Truth or Consequences
by LadyDeb1970
Summary: Twelve years before the beginning of the series, an act of drunken violence leads to a series of tragedies for three Legacy Houses. . .including San Francisco House.
1. The Beginning: Santa Fe, 1984

Disclaimer: The characters and premise of Poltergeist: The Legacy does not belong to me (not that I would want to claim Jonathan Boyle). If you recognize a character as canon (such as Derek or Philip, Angelyne D'Arcy, Edmund Tremain, Jane Witherspoon, or Jonathan Boyle), then you know it's not mine. However, the Barton family and other characters you don't recognize do belong to me. Don't mind if you want to borrow them, just give them back intact, and give credit where credit is due.

This story involves the dark side of the Legacy, including the dark sides of beloved characters like Derek Rayne. This story is set in the early 1980's, when he was a young precept, still learning the ropes, and therefore before the time period when he learned what kind of a monster Jonathan Boyle was.

Author's Note: Please be aware that this is the first story in my series dealing with Raleigh House, and it sets up the conflicts which occur when Raleigh and San Francisco Houses are forced to work together. The members of Raleigh House are: precept Dr. Tarquin Marshall; his second in command, Dr Valerie Barton (here a preteen and teenager); Nora Lincoln; Quinn's daughter Claire Marshall; Starr Barton; and Father Philip Callaghan. As of right now, I do not plan to post subsequent stories here. While San Francisco House members do make appearances, they are 'guest appearances.' Which is probably for the best, given the way the two Houses often clash. Also, to save myself some headaches. . .I DO NOT HATE Derek Rayne. I loved Derek. He ticked me off sometimes, but I loved him. However, I have too much respect for the character of Derek Rayne, and the actor Derek de Lint, to say that he was perfect. That said, on with the story.

Truth or Consequences: Part One

Santa Fe, New Mexico: 1984

As the daughter of a Legacy precept, Valerie Barton knew about evil. She was often a prime target, a vulnerability for her father, and for her mother. They tried to protect her, of course. They did protect her, as much as any human being could protect any other human being from supernatural evil, especially. And she learned about evil of the mundane kind, created by people like Hitler and allowed by the complicity of good people. Sometimes, it was the supernatural evil that was most easily vanquished.

But when she was twelve years old, she learned that not all evil took place at night, with thunder and lightning and rain. The summer of 1984, she learned that evil could occur on a beautiful June day. And on that beautiful June day, she learned the hardest lesson of all, that sometimes, the mundane evil was the most deadly kind of all. That the worst monsters were not vampires and werewolves, but the demons walking about in human bodies.

Her family lived in New Mexico at this time, and her older sister Marissa hoped they would be there long enough for her to attain her degree in archaeology. It was only a few years after Indiana Jones first appeared in theaters, but Mel loved archaeology ever since she was a child. During her final year of high school, she went on an archaeological dig and fell in love with that aspect of it as well. The girls' mother, Deirdre, joked it was to be expected. . .Marissa always found a way to get dirty as a child. Why should Marissa the adult be any different?

Val's path was less defined. While she was chosen to follow her father as a precept, she still hadn't decided which path she would take in the Legacy. She was born into the secret organization of her parents, but wouldn't become an official member until she was eighteen. There were so many things that interested Val. . .would she choose history, which her mother loved as well? Or psychology, to mine the treasures of the mind? Or perhaps theology? That still fascinated her, though her godfather disappointed her when he told her that even if she wasn't destined to become a precept, she still couldn't be a priest.

The disappointment didn't last, because one thing she learned in her young life. . . fighting evil could take many forms. There were so many things that were open to her. Perhaps she could follow the arcane paths taken by her mother.

Or maybe she would choose linguistics, since she had a gift for languages. The possibilities seemed infinite. She was young, and still innocent enough to believe that despite the horrors faced by the Legacy, her parents would live forever. Her mother was expecting her third child, at the age of thirty-seven. What could be more life-affirming than a new child? And she was so excited about having a younger brother or sister. No longer would she be the baby.

No longer being the youngest meant she had more responsibilities, and new lessons accompanied those responsibilities. Today was a perfect example. The twelve year old was currently sitting in the library with Leo Herzog. Her mother met him several weeks earlier at the university where she taught comparative religions. During their conversation at the university bookstore, Deirdre Barton learned that the young man could read ancient Hebrew. He just graduated from college, and he was seeking a teaching job. By the end of the day, he had one: teaching ancient Hebrew to Val.

In the first weeks, the Hebrew lessons were taking place on a weekly basis, since Leo was still moving into his apartment. He could only spare one day a week. But, at the beginning of this week, Val's mother told her that Leo would be at the House every day for her lessons, at nine am sharp and the lessons would last until three pm. The girl accepted this. . .but secretly wondered if their new guest had something to do with the change in schedule.

She had a bad feeling that was the case, just from the way the air changed in the House. Before her father left for DC the previous week, he explained that Jonathan Boyle, from San Francisco House, would be arriving. Boyle would be observing the House, see if there were any improvements that needed to be made. Mel told Val, "Just who does Derek Rayne think he is? He's only been a precept for a few years, and he thinks he can tell Dad how to run his House? I don't think so!" Val agreed, but wondered if maybe the new precept actually said that.

Besides, after only two days of Boyle's presence, Val was glad she had lessons. The big, glowering man from San Francisco House frightened her. She was born with special abilities, and was learning to control them. But she thought she would be wary of Boyle even without those abilities. There was something. . .dark about him. Something that frightened her. And so she gladly stayed out of his way. Besides, she would have never admitted it to her godfather, but she had something of a crush on Leo.

"How is she doing today, Leo?" her mother asked from the door as Val struggled with the current lesson. Though she spoke and read Spanish, Italian, and French fairly well, Val discovered that Hebrew was much different and much more difficult. The girl stared at the words that were dancing in front of her eyes, trying to concentrate despite her restlessness. Deirdre McCormick Barton added, "Aside from being restless, I mean."

"Mrs. . .er. . .I mean, Deirdre. . .she's doing fine. Valerie is a twelve year old girl, and it's perfectly natural for a young girl to want to be outside on a day like today. Truth be told, I'd like to be outside myself. But she's trying to stay focused. . .succeeding far better than I would have at her age," the young tutor answered, a dull red flushing his cheeks. Val felt a glow of pleasure at his words. Leo didn't say things he didn't mean.

"I believe that. My daughter is an extremely determined young lady. . .both of them are, actually. Well, since you're both working so hard, I asked the kitchen staff if they would mind baking some chocolate chip cookies for you. They obliged, and the cookies are cooling in the kitchen. They have been given the rest of the day off, along with the others. If my watch is correct, you have a break coming up in a few minutes," Val's mother observed.

Val snapped alert. The kitchen staff was leaving as well? The preteen decided to talk to Brigid, a local high school student who worked at the House during the weekends and summer vacations. She could tell Val what was going on. . .and it would never occur to her to try to protect Val. Mom was smiling, but Val could see strain in her mother's eyes. Val would have never sworn in front of either of her parents, but she privately thought, damn that Boyle! He's upsetting Mom, and that's not good for her or for the baby! Dad's gonna be furious!

But that situation was between her father and Derek Rayne, and Valerie knew better than to interfere in 'grown-up business.' Funny, how grown-up business ended up causing problems for people her age. . .causing problems for kids of any age. But she wasn't supposed to think that. Valerie resolutely returned her eyes to the task at hand, but turning her mind to the translation wasn't so easy for the young girl. Especially not now that she was so worried about her mother, and so afraid of Jonathan Boyle.

"We do indeed. . .fifteen minutes. And if we manage to catch the kitchen staff before we leave, we'll be sure to thank them for the treat, Deirdre," Leo answered. This time, Val had to smile. While she had a crush on her teacher, it was pretty obvious that Leo had a crush on her mother. Why wouldn't he? She was a beautiful woman, everyone said so. . .beautiful and smart, so beautiful that some people wondered how Douglas Barton won such a lovely woman.

"You're very welcome. Val, love. . .don't put your head so close to the paper. You'll hurt your eyes," Deirdre admonished and Val obediently lifted her head. She always did that. Put her head too close to the paper. Her dad thought it was because she was trying to look into the paper, trying to absorb the information. She saw her mother smile, and Deirdre Barton added, "Much better. Working hard is fine and honorable, and we're all very proud of you. . .but I don't want you making yourself sick. All right?"

Val nodded and Deirdre blew her a kiss, then left the room. As she did, Val noted that her mother's left hand was pressed to the small of her back. The girl murmured, forgetting for a moment that she wasn't alone, "Mom needs to sit down for a little while. Her back is hurting. Her feet will be next. Maybe I should get a pillow for her during my break. . .maybe even get some warm water for her feet."

"You're a little young to be a mother, Miss Val," Leo said. Val jumped, then blushed, and Leo added with a smile, "Don't be embarrassed, Val. . .your mother is a wonderful lady, and I think it's fine that you try to take care of her. Especially when your father isn't around." Val smiled, accepting the praise. That was something else she was learning from him. . .how to accept praise when it was given. But the girl wondered uneasily what would happen if Leo found out her beloved mother was a witch? Would he still think she was wonderful then?

. . .

"When Douglas gets home," Deirdre Barton murmured as she left the library, "we need to have a long talk about Valerie's education. She works entirely too hard." She agreed to a lot of things, as the wife of a Legacy precept and probably the mother of another. She agreed that the girls should start learning other languages while they were still children. Valerie learning three languages in five years was a little much, but the child seemed to enjoy it.

She agreed that Valerie should learn how to control her growing abilities, powers that came from both side of her family. Valerie was the daughter of mages and witches in an environment that considered all magick-users evil. It was necessary for the preteen to learn control. After their younger daughter began her Hebrew lessons, Deirdre agreed to arrange daily lessons while Boyle was here. The visiting Legacy member was a fool, but it wouldn't take him long enough to realize that Valerie was a special child.

Valerie was a special child, yes. They knew that after that damnable test. But she was still just a child. What were they thinking, starting her training as a Legacy precept so bloody soon? That was something that Winston Rayne did, and look what happened to him. More to the point, look what happened to his son! If Jonathan Boyle was any indication, Deirdre knew she couldn't go to San Francisco any time soon. Besides. Deirdre knew the Legacy. Even before Jonathan Boyle's arrival, she knew what the Legacy was like. Anyone who was different was automatically evil, or in league with evil, or a blockade to good.

Deirdre shook herself, trying to redirect her attention away from the frustrations of dealing with the Legacy. Her children were her top priority at the moment. She couldn't do anything to change the Legacy, but she could prepare her daughters to meet the challenges posed by the ancient organization. At the same time. . .surely they could have found a better way to keep Valerie out of danger. Some way which didn't involve turning her into a small adult.

Mel was seventeen, but would she really begrudge her little sister a few hours at the mall? Valerie tried so hard to please them, tried so hard not to disappoint them. Deirdre thought of her daughter, head bent over the ancient Hebrew words, and fought back tears. Maybe some of this was her fault. She should have seen these trials coming years earlier, before the girls were even born. Was she stupid back then, or just naive?

She knew when she joined the Legacy that her children would grow up much quicker. And she knew that they might suffer for Deirdre's faith, for her belief in the Goddess. For that reason, she agreed to raise them as Catholics. And yet, it seemed that no matter what she did to protect her children, it wasn't enough. Deirdre was terribly worried about Valerie, and about her unborn daughter. The Legacy matron knew her unborn child was another daughter. Just as she knew that both Marissa and Valerie were daughters. She cast no spells. . .she just knew. She also knew that she wouldn't live to see her youngest daughter to grow up.

_I will find a way to protect my girls_, Deirdre vowed as she entered the kitchen, _I don't know what will happen, but I will protect them_. And she had an idea where to start. She observed Brigid and Valerie talking during one of Valerie's breaks from her lessons. The high school student was four years older than Valerie, but in some ways, she seemed younger than Deirdre's little girl. And in others, she was another big sister.

_Yes_, she thought, _that's a good place to start. She's not Valerie's sister, so she doesn't have to worry about the embarrassment._ To her relief, Brigid was still cleaning the kitchen before she went home, and Deirdre asked, "Brigie, dear, do you have a moment?" Like Deirdre, Brigid was a generation removed from Ireland. But unlike Deirdre, Brigid's parents immigrated separately to the United States, where they met, married, and had four children.

The soon-to-be junior smiled and said, "Like, no problem, Mrs. Dr. B. Let me guess. . .Val's ready to take a break, and you want me to make sure Boyle-boyle-toil-and trouble leaves her alone. Am I close?" Deirdre wouldn't allow herself to laugh at Brigie's nickname for Jonathan Boyle. . .no, absolutely, she would NOT! She had to set an example as the wife of the precept, especially to the teenagers employed at the House.

However, she did allow herself a smile as she lightly chastised the girl, "Now, Brigie, we must be tolerant of others. No matter how much they try our patience." The teen just snorted in disgust, sticking her finger toward her mouth. Deirdre got the reference. It was hard not to, between her students and her daughters. She just had to be careful. . .there were times when she found herself talking like the teenagers she taught.

Brigie retorted, "Gag me with a telephone pole! Totally! Like, he is a complete moron! Even my mom thinks so!" That was bad. Brigie's mother was the same age as Deirdre. Although, the auburn-haired woman wondered how Brigie's mother even knew about Jonathan Boyle? Did she meet him? That question flew out of her mind as Brigie stiffened, adding in standard English, "Of course, I'll look out for Valerie, Dr. Barton. You know I think of her as a little sister." It didn't take a psychic to realize Jonathan Boyle just entered the room.

She turned to face the man and asked calmly, "Yes, Jonathan, was there something you wanted to discuss? Brigie, thank you. . .that means a lot to me. Come, Jonathan, we'll go into the study." Without waiting for an answer, Deirdre brushed past the visiting Legacy member and walked back into the study. Ever since Jonathan Boyle's arrival at the Legacy House, Deirdre noticed the way he looked at their staff and their members. She didn't like it. Didn't like it at all. While her husband, she was acting precept, and it was long past time for Boyle to remember that. Her calm was only skin deep. . .inside, her heart was racing. What was he up to this time? She had the answer within seconds.

"Well, wasn't that sweet. . .or should I be concerned? Two witches in a coven," Boyle sneered. Deirdre's blood ran cold. . .how did know? She, Douglas, and Nathaniel agreed to keep Deirdre's faith a secret from the rest of the Legacy. Deirdre wasn't ashamed of being a witch, and Douglas wasn't ashamed of loving and marrying a witch. . .but she knew the Legacy. They both knew the Legacy. Not well enough, maybe. That was always a possibility.

Deirdre swallowed hard, fighting to maintain her composure. Once she could present a composed face to the world, she asked, "What do you mean? I asked Brigid to make sure Valerie doesn't work too hard. She's only twelve. . .and children need to relax." Deirdre chose her words carefully. . .she knew his views on raising children. If anything could distract Boyle from her beliefs, this would.

She wasn't to be that lucky. Boyle held up Deirdre's pentacle and snarled, "I know what this is, witch. You've destroyed a good man, with your witchcraft. You've probably destroyed your daughters as well. But I'll cleanse this House. And I'll cleanse your daughters as well. It's a pity they have to suffer for your sins, but that's the way the world works. They can blame you on their way to hell."

Boyle threw the pentacle to one side, swaying slightly as he did so, and Deirdre realized for the first time that he was drunk. This was worse than she thought. Much worse. However, panicking wouldn't help. She forced herself to stay calm and replied quietly, "What I believe does not make me evil. It just makes me different. I won't argue with you about this, Jonathan. Valerie is due to take a break in a few minutes, and I mean to see that she gets that break."

She half-turned, but wasn't fast enough. Boyle lunged forward and caught her arm. He whipped her back around to face him and Deirdre cringed at the smell of alcohol. Boyle sneered, "Don't you get it yet, witch? I'm in control now!" He began chanting in Latin. . .evidently, he believed Deirdre would cringe from hearing him call on his Christian god. He would not be happy when it didn't harm her. Deirdre cautiously looked around for possible escapes. She was eight months pregnant, and he was a big man. . .she knew he would harm her and her child. It was steadily becoming clearer how things would turn out, but Deirdre was determined not to let down her family.

When he finished the chant, she merely looked at him, resisting the childish impulse to stick her tongue out at him. There was no sense in deliberately making things worse. She wouldn't provoke someone already unstable by doing something totally infantile. His brow furrowed in confusion and he asked, more to himself than to her, "What's wrong? I must be doing the chant wrong. It should have killed her. Why aren't you dead, witch? Is your pact with Satan that strong?"

Deirdre looked at him silently, trying to choose her words carefully. She was a witch, not a Satanist, but she knew that mattered little. In the Legacy, it mattered not at all. At last, she said, "I have made no pact with Satan, Jonathan. I am a child of the Creator, as you are." His eyes hardened and he flung her away. Deirdre cried out, in spite of herself, and threw her hands out to catch herself. The nightmare began.

. . .

It was good to be on summer vacation. Especially when you lived in New Mexico. And especially when you were heading for your freshman year of college. Marissa Rose Barton often asked her father if he chose New Mexico for its archaeological importance. It was a joke, of course. . .Mel knew that the Legacy sent you where you were needed. According to her godfather, it was like being a priest. The Church sent you where you were needed. Sort of.

Regardless of the reason, she was ecstatic when she learned that they would be in New Mexico. There was such history, so much potential! And things could only get better. She was seventeen, poised on the greatest adventure of her life to date. And as a child of the Legacy, that was saying a lot. Mel didn't care that she wasn't destined to be a precept. She hated paperwork. She would leave that to her kid sister.

Who was, at this moment, poring over ancient Hebrew. Like, yuck! What sane twelve year old would want to be studying on a day like today? Then again, Mel knew that Val was in her lessons to protect her from that creep, Boyle. And like all older sisters, Mel considered her kid sister at least a little weird. The girl shuddered dramatically as she put away her nail polish. Speaking of Boyle, when would that jerk leave, so life could go back to normal?

As an incoming college freshman, Mel was caught between the world of children, which her younger sister still inhabited, and the world of adults. Still, she belonged more to the adult world. . .and during the last few days, she saw the dark side of the Legacy. At least, Mel hoped that the arrogant, volatile, troublesome Jonathan Boyle was the dark side of the Legacy. She didn't want to think he was the good part.

No, as far as she was concerned, her parents were the good parts of the Legacy. Not Jonathan Boyle, not Derek Rayne, and not that slimy toad Edmund Tremain. Marissa's dark eyes narrowed as she thought about the precept of the Ruling House. For all that her kid sister irritated her, and sometimes wished Val was adopted, no one messed with her little sister. Edmund Tremain didn't just mess with her baby sister. . .he almost killed her, and for that, his appointment as precept of the Ruling House was extended!

On second thought, maybe she should rethink joining the Legacy. They promoted people like Edmund Tremain, and denigrated people like her mother. It was okay to torture and almost kill ten year old girls, 'cause it was done in the name of the Legacy. That made everything all right, where people like Edmund Tremain and Derek Rayne were concerned. Marissa's eyes flashed once more at the injustice of it.

She once asked her mother why she stayed in the Legacy, since they thought so little of magick-users of any kind. Deirdre was silent for a long time, then told her daughter, "Because if I leave, nothing changes. Or, if they do change, then the changes will be bad. The circle of protectors grows smaller, and the number of people like Edmund Tremain increase. But if I stay, I have a better chance of making things better. If I stay, perhaps I can prevent some other ten year old girl from undergoing that damnable test which almost killed your sister."

They never spoke of the incident in detail. Her father never talked about it at all, for he was still guilt-ridden about the whole matter. Two years passed, and Valerie recovered. Both in mind and in body, but their father couldn't forgive himself for risking her life like that. And her mother just referred to 'that damnable test.' It wasn't just 'the damn test,' or 'that damn test,' but 'that damnable test.' As if it was created in the very fires of hell.

Which, really, was entirely likely. The Legacy had to know their operatives were strong enough, she got that. Didn't particularly like it, of course, but she understood the need for such tests. But Valerie wasn't even a member of the Legacy! Not at ten, and speaking for herself, if someone did that to Mel's daughter, she wouldn't let the Legacy anywhere near her! She couldn't imagine her mother having enough faith in the Legacy to remain with such an organization. That just astounded her, beyond all measure. The Legacy almost killed a ten year old girl, and hid behind its own rules. They almost destroyed that child's sanity, to say nothing of the sanity of the rest of her family!

Mel shook her head, trying to refocus her attention on something else before her temper went through the roof. She wiggled her toes, hoping the polish would dry faster. Using a hair dryer had momentary appeal, but she didn't like the idea of using heated air to dry flammable materials. Okay, go to plan b. She looked around her room, trying to focus on a book that would hold her attention long enough for her nail polish to dry, then grimaced. Okay, no books which she hadn't read, or was dying to read again. And she promised her father that she would only read for pleasure while she was on vacation. Maybe because he trusted her to stay out of trouble, even if he didn't trust Val to do the same. On the other hand, she supposed she couldn't blame a twelve year old girl who didn't look for trouble, not when trouble just seemed to naturally find her.

She glanced at her toenails again. Well, they were already starting to dry. It couldn't hurt if she headed downstairs to get a snack. She would just have to be careful about the way she walked. Mel slid off her bed and very gingerly walked across the bare wood floors. As she slipped downstairs, she could hear Jonathan Boyle's voice. Mel's hand tightened on the banister. This did NOT sound good. Still. . .she crept on downstairs and inched her way toward the study.

She listened with growing horror to the conversation between the visiting Legacy member and her mother. . .how on earth did he find her mother's pentacle? That didn't matter now. Mel saw her mother turn to leave, and Boyle grabbed her arm. He started chanting something in Latin. . .Mel's Latin was rusty, but she knew enough to realize he was chanting the 'Our Father.' What, did he think it would kill her mother? Apparently so. . .for Mel next heard the prick asking what kind of a deal her mother struck with Satan. Puh-leaze! Mel knew the majority of the Legacy thought all witches were evil, but this was going a bit far. _Then again_, she thought, _this is Jonathan Boyle, and Dad's never been impressed with his intelligence._ However, her contempt turned back to horror when she saw Jonathan Boyle shove her mother away from him.

Mel knew about abusers. She knew that Boyle wouldn't wait to launch a second attack. As he strode toward her mother, Mel launched an attack of her own. She screamed, "Get away from her, you bastard!" He turned at the sound of her voice and Mel flew into him, sending him staggering back. She was small, like her mother and her sister. But her momentum was enough to startle Boyle, and gave her mother a few precious seconds to crawl further toward safety.

Mel maneuvered herself until she was clinging to Boyle's back. And true to form, he started trying to dislodge her, snarling obscenities. There was one other problem. . . Mel could smell the liquor on him. The son of a bitch was drunk. So that was what happened. The creepazoid got drunk (why didn't that surprise her?), and found her mother's pentacle somehow. Probably went snooping through her mother's things, spying for that damn precept of his. Never mind that Derek Rayne WAS awful cute. He was cute, but he sure as hell wasn't cute enough to justify this out-of-control Neanderthal attacking her mother!

Mel made a quiet oath that she would never allow herself to get out of control. . . not from alcohol, not from drugs, and not from love. And that when all this was over, she would give Derek Rayne a rather lengthy piece of her mind. He was to blame for all of this. . .he sent Boyle to Santa Fe, to see how their House could be improved. Improved, ha! He had no business telling Mel's father to run his House, when Rayne couldn't control his own members! Worse yet, Mel was sure Boyle was here to spy. Well, he wouldn't get away with it, and neither would Derek Rayne!

First, however, she had to survive this encounter. Her mother kept trying to stay out of the way of the enraged bull to which Marissa now clung. As her hands threatened to betray her, and she began to slide from Boyle's back, the stakes went up even higher. . .Mel's twelve year old sister skidded into the room, trailed by Leo Herzog, and impulsively threw herself over their mother protectively. Though Mel still struggled to stay on Boyle's back and steer him away from her mother and unborn sibling, she still had to blink and look twice. She had to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. No, that couldn't be right. It was just a nightmare, her mind was playing tricks on her. But still, the image remained. Her little sister. . .so small and fragile-looking. . .throwing herself protectively over their mother.

_Oh no_, Marissa thought, _Val, get outta here_! She tried to steer Boyle away from her mother and sister, but he was stronger than she was, and it was all she could do to hang on. She dug her fingers into Boyle's shoulders, wishing she hadn't cut her fingernails. She would have liked to have hurt him in one form or another. By the time it was all over, that wish would be repeated a thousandfold.

. . .

Only five minutes after her mother departed, Leo Herzog shook his head ruefully and looked at Val, saying, "C'mon, kiddo, that's enough of that. Let's take our break, get some of those cookies. And figure out if we wanna spend the rest of the day inside, or out in the sunshine. You're a growing girl, you need time in the sun." He paused, smiled, and added, "Besides, I don't know about you, but my concentration's about shot. We both need the break."

Val closed her book with a sigh. She started to reply, started to thank her young teacher somehow, but the sound of angry voices drew her attention. Leo said softly, "That's coming from downstairs. . .and it sounds like Mr. Boyle." Val froze and stared at her teacher. She wasn't officially dismissed and her upbringing taught her to stay put until she knew what she was supposed to do. And even if she wasn't taught that. . .she couldn't have moved.

Leo quickly ended that paralysis, adding, "Let's go. . .I have a really bad feeling about this." He took Val's hand, and together, they raced downstairs. The shouting was coming from the study, and Val broke away from the young man. She headed into the study. . .then stopped dead in her tracks. Her sister clung to Boyle, screaming in fury and trying to steer him away from their mother, who was sprawled on the floor. But their mother wasn't out of danger yet.

She was lying on her side, curled into a fetal position, to protect herself and the baby. The baby. Valerie's little brother or little sister. He was gonna hurt her little brother or little sister! Leo murmured, "Stay put, Valerie, and I'll call the police. That man is completely out of control." Val bobbed her head numbly and Leo ran into the kitchen, the site of the next nearest phone. . .there was no way he could make it to the phone in the study.

Then Boyle almost dislodged her sister. Mel couldn't hold on much longer. As it was, she reminded the preteen of a cowboy trying desperately to keep control of a bucking bronco. Boyle turned toward her mother. Val forgot her promise to stay put, forgot about doing as she was told. Her mother needed her. She threw herself toward her mother. Val's intention was to get her mother out of Boyle's line of fire. Her plan died when a booted foot slammed into the small of her back. It felt like she was hit with a locomotive, and Val slumped over her mother.

Her mother was whispering, "Oh, Goddess, no!" She was trying to move Val out of the line of fire, but Val couldn't move. The first kick struck her spinal column, felt as if it shattered her vertebrae. Not that she would have moved, if she could have, despite the repeated kicks. Despite the kicks that cracked the ribs protecting her back, Valerie made her choice. She would not let this monster hurt her mother or her unborn sibling.

A crack opened in her mind, one sealed for the last two years. Valerie had the strange sense that if she simply wished herself and her mother away, it would be over. She didn't know why she thought that, but as the kicks continued to land, it was something she reached for. Each time she thought she was close, pain dimmed the edges of her vision, bringing her dangerously close to darkness. But she held on. She held on, feeling her brother or sister move under her body. She held on, not daring to let go. She held on, because. . .because. . .

It felt like she was breaking in half. Her mother was sobbing her name, begging the Goddess to help her daughter. Val didn't let go. And she didn't know how long it lasted. . .but the kicks finally ceased, and Mel was at her side. She pulled Val away from their mother, sobbing, "Val. . .Mom!" Val shook in her sister's arms, from a combination of shock and terror and pain. But that was good, wasn't it, if she could feel pain?

Valerie tried to follow that thought to its logical conclusion. She wasn't even sure why she was fighting so hard now. It was over, her mom and the baby was okay. It was over, she could let go now, couldn't she? But she couldn't. Not yet. It was a good thing, wasn't it, if she had feeling in her body? Mel screamed, brushing Val's dark hair back from her eyes, to someone Val couldn't see, "I don't care what you have to do, but keep that monster away from my mother and my sister! Oh, God, Val. . .Val, sweetie, I am so sorry!"

She rocked Val in her arms, still sobbing that she was sorry. The younger girl had no idea why Mel was even apologizing, and it hurt too much to try to think. Instead, Val forced out, "Mom. . .make sure Mom is okay. The baby." Then she could say no more, for she blacked out briefly. When she opened her eyes next, she discovered that the paramedics and police were here. As the paramedics tenderly lifted Val onto the stretcher, she could see Leo Herzog pinning Jonathan Boyle to the floor. Val would have cheered, if she had the strength.

Two policemen took his place and Leo said in a firm voice as he rose to his full height, "Yes, sirs, I'm the one who called you. He attacked Dr. Barton, without provocation, and then he attacked Valerie while she was trying to get her mother to safety. Yes, it's Valerie on the stretcher. She's twelve years old. Her mother is eight months pregnant, so Valerie was trying to protect her and the baby. I'm Valerie's teacher. . .Rabbi Leo Herzog."

Valerie focused on the fallacy of that statement, for reasons she didn't understand. Well, technically, he wasn't a rabbi yet. He didn't have the training yet, but 'rabbi' meant teacher. And he was a teacher, he was her teacher, so that was okay. It was okay, it was. . .ohhhh, that hurt. It hurt so much! No, no, no. She couldn't let go. She couldn't let it hurt, her family still needed her! Daddy, come home, we need you! She tried to cast her mind out, tried to touch her father's mind, like she sometimes could when she was really scared, but. . .

Something pricked her arm, and Valerie managed to turn her head in that direction. One of the paramedics was removing something from her arm. Was it a needle? She couldn't tell. Her eyes were all blurry. The paramedic. . .a woman. . . smiled gently, and brushed at Valerie's eyes. Her vision cleared. Sort of. The paramedic said softly, "It's all right, honey, I gave you something for the pain. You'll be okay."

Something for the pain? Hopefully, it wasn't something Val was allergic to. That wouldn't be a good thing. She must have said something about that, because Mel said softly, her voice hoarse from crying, "It's okay, Val, they asked me about your allergies. You're okay, sweetheart, you're okay." Oh. That was a relief. The girl flinched when she heard her sister scream, "YOU BASTARD! You better hope you never see me again, because if anything happens to my mother or sister because of you, I'll kill you myself!"

Mel was moved away from her, a soft voice trying to soothe the older girl, reminding her that Val was still conscious. The preteen heard something else. One of the police officers muttered under his breath, "Jesus. . .first the prick attacks a pregnant woman, then he beats up her twelve year old kid for trying to protect her? Who in the hell does this guy think he is?" _He's a member of the Legacy_, she thought fuzzily, _that means he has the right to do what he wants, to whoever he wants. He thinks._

Val saw another motion from the corner of her eye. . .Mel was kneeling a few yards away. She swiped up something with her hand. She waited until the officer's back was turned, then turned her hand for Val to see. . .it was their mother's pentacle, which she kept in her special box. Val didn't want to think about what would have happened if the police officers found that. She liked police officers. They were heroes, just like firefighters. But not everyone understood about Mom. The next question was, why was Mom's pentacle out?

She tried to focus on that. . .tried to keep herself in the here and now, before she passed out. She couldn't pass out. . .why? She wasn't sure, but she knew it was important that she remained conscious. Through the red haze of pain still permeating her vision, Val now saw the paramedics as they secured her to the gurney. One of them gently caressed her hair, murmuring, "It's all right, honey, you're safe now." She tried to speak, but it was hard to breathe, and the paramedic asked, "You checked her for a possible puncture to her lungs, didn't you?"

"Yeah. She's good to go. . .I think it's just the pain. Don't worry, honey, we're gonna take good care of you. Just relax, and don't try to talk," the other paramedic answered. Val closed her eyes, trying not to breathe too deeply, so it wouldn't hurt so much. She tried not to think about how much it hurt. They gave her something for the pain, and it still hurt. She couldn't think about that. If she thought about it, and what it meant, she would get scared. And right now, Valerie had to be brave. She had to be brave. _Be brave, my Valerie_, her mother told her two years earlier, when her mind suddenly went blank. _Be brave, darling girl_. But even those words couldn't hide the fear in her mother's dark eyes. And her mother was so afraid. . .why? She didn't understand.

"Get my daughter out of here. . .I'll be fine. But call my husband, let him know that we need him here," Val heard her mother rasp. The girl could tell, even as she started floating toward oblivion, that her mother wasn't all right. But she couldn't seem to speak. She had to tell the paramedics that her mother needed help. And then, there was no longer a need to speak, for the pain medication was finally kicking in, and she was drifting. . .

. . .

The paramedics did as she asked, carrying her daughter from the House. Valerie, Deirdre saw, was unconscious. Boyle stopped struggling against the police, and now sobbed that he hadn't meant to hurt anyone. Bullshit, as Nathaniel would have said. That bastard meant to do exactly what he did. If there was any justice in the world, he would pay for this. He would pay, before any other children were hurt while protecting their mothers. She had no way of knowing, of course, that it was already too late for that.

Although, she really didn't care, either. Valerie was in good hands, now Deirdre had to worry about herself and her eldest daughter. . . about her unborn child. The shove shook both mother and child up, though neither were physically injured, and Deirdre's unborn daughter sensed her mother's fear. The little girl was kicking, obviously agitated and not knowing why. Deirdre tried to calm her, but that was proving difficult, since she was terrified out of her mind.

Curiously, she had no fear of the Legacy right now. The Legacy could go straight to hell, for all she cared. No, she was only worried about her children. Though she distrusted the Legacy for years, she never truly believed they would actually harm her children. She was wrong, and if she wasn't so distracted with the survival of her daughters, as well as her own, Deirdre would have actually felt betrayed. She should have seen this coming. She could no longer hide from the truth. The Legacy was nothing more than lies. It claimed to protect the innocent from the monsters and the dark, but it was a seeding ground for evil. It created monsters, in people like Jonathan Boyle and Winston Rayne. It. . .oh, goddess. _Oh, goddess_, she prayed, _help me! Help my daughter_! Pain rippled through her, threatening to tear her in half. The baby was coming. . .the baby was coming and it was too soon!

_No, no, no_, she thought frantically, _you must wait, my little one! It is too soon, it is much too soon!_ But the baby was determined. . .the time was now, she wanted out, because her safe little cocoon was no longer safe. Deirdre's scream of pain alerted Leo and Marissa. Boyle was taken away, still ranting about suffering a witch to live, and the police. . .used a little more force than might have actually been necessary. Deirdre had absolutely no sympathy for him.

Blessedly, Deirdre's unborn daughter waited until she and Mel reached the hospital before starting her entrance into the world. But it was still far too soon. Leo thoughtfully offered to drive Deirdre and Mel to the hospital, so they could be there for Val. The boy was shaken, Deirdre could tell, and at first, she considered saying no. Then she realized that Leo needed something, anything, to do. She assented, after telling him to send the entire staff home now. She was sure the encounter shook them as well.

While Leo was getting the car ready, Mel opened her hand and placed Deirdre's pentacle into her hand, murmuring, "I picked it up while the police were dealing with Boyle. Just wish I could have gotten a few kicks into that son of a bitch myself." Deirdre smiled, in spite of herself. She didn't bother chastising her daughter for her language, and Mel continued, "Figured the last thing we needed was the police asking questions, and thinking you had a pentagram. They don't exactly know the difference between the two."

"Thank you, love," Deirdre murmured, slipping the pentacle into her pocket. She dropped her head against her older daughter's knee. A moment later, Leo was at her side, lifting her into his arms. She couldn't fight him. It was awkward, and if she struggled, he might have dropped her. That would cause true harm to her child, more than her daughter already endured when Deirdre hit the ground. If Boyle harmed both of her younger daughters, she would kill him herself. One way or another, even if it was from beyond the grave.

While the medics were preparing Val for the ride to the hospital, Deirdre told them to do whatever was necessary to help her. The same was true for the doctors. When they reached the hospital, they learned that Val was just wheeled into the ER. As soon as Leo told the doctors at the hospital that Deirdre was suffering from labor pains, the Legacy matron was on a gurney and being wheeled into the delivery room.

The last she saw of her oldest daughter was Mel's tear-stained face as Deirdre was wheeled into the elevator. But over the next several hours, Deirdre could only focus upon her unborn child. The doctors would take care of Valerie, and Leo would look after Mel. Besides, Nathaniel and Douglas were on their way. That was something else which Leo saw to before their departure from the House. The boy was a goddess-sent in the last few hours.

But her unborn daughter needed her the most right now. She was a month premature, and as Deirdre fought to bring her child into the world, she became aware of a Presence. While she didn't believe in the devil, or in Satan, Deirdre knew evil existed. And right now, an evil was present in this very room. . .an evil which wished to take her child's life. A supernatural evil, which was as real as Jonathan Boyle.

Deirdre was bone-weary, after the physical attacks against her and her children. . .and now, the spiritual attack against her unborn child. She was dimly aware of the doctor saying something about her hemorrhaging. They had to stop the labor, or mother and child would die. That was not an option. Deirdre focused on her unborn child. She knew that if her daughter died. . .something terrible would happen. She couldn't allow her child to die, or the spirit she now felt would take her baby. It would take her body and use her to its own ends.

No. No, she wouldn't allow that to happen. She couldn't allow that to happen, and prayed to the Goddess and the God to help her. 'We _are here, child, you have our strength as your sanctuary_.' Deirdre could actually hear the voice in her head, the voice of the Goddess. She sensed Them both in the room with her. She knew they would allow nothing to happen to her infant daughter. With the strength she drew from the two deities, Deirdre forced herself to push her child from her womb, toward life.

The doctors were frantically trying to stop labor, but Deirdre was determined. If she allowed her daughter to die, if she allowed that spirit to have her child, then Edmund Tremain won. Jonathan Boyle won. Derek Rayne won. She prayed that her older daughters would forgive her for the choice she was making, but she knew they would. They would never blame her precious baby girl for this. . .only the man who ignited the attack.

She wished she could be there as her older daughters grew up. There were still so many things both Mel and Val needed to know. Things only their mother could tell them, things which neither Douglas nor Nathaniel could tell them. Douglas would. . .oh no! Douglas and Marissa! No, that wasn't what she wanted! She didn't know if she was delirious or dying, but she could see the future as it was laid out before her. And the god whispered, _'Do not be afraid, child, for good may always come from evil. Trust in us, have faith_ in us.'

Trust. Faith. Deirdre remembered that Winston Rayne always used to say 'faith has need of the whole truth.' What a fool. He was always a fool, but he became even worse after he accidentally killed Ruth Cantwell. Killed the innocent wife and mother because her sister couldn't forgive her for what she had, and cast a glamour spell to make her sister appear as herself. And shattered the soul of the arrogant Winston Rayne, ultimately costing him his life.

_'This too had a reason, daughter. Winston Rayne's arrogance and foolishness. Rebecca Cantwell's extreme jealousy. All things happen for a reason. You must trust in us, and you must trust Marissa and Valerie to watch over your last-born child. Time is running out, daughter, you must push your girl-child from your body. We will help you_,' came the voices of the gods once more.

By now, the doctors realized they couldn't stop labor. And the room was cold. So cold. Instead of stopping labor, one enterprising young doctor told the others to start helping Deirdre, rather than blocking her. It was too late for that, though. Deirdre knew she wouldn't have the strength needed to heal, not after this. All of her strength went to her daughter now, to her baby and to her Valerie. Valerie. . .would Valerie be all right?

_'In time, daughter. Your middle daughter will require time to heal, and she shall have it. Jonathan Boyle, and the other unwitting agents of the Dark will lose today_,' the goddess told her in the deepest recesses of her mind. The unwitting agents of the Dark. Yes. That was Jonathan Boyle. That was Derek Rayne. Would either of them realize it before it was too late? She hoped so. She hoped it wasn't too late for Rayne, that it wasn't too late for Boyle's teenaged son. She suspected it was too late for Boyle, but she didn't care. She couldn't forgive him for what he did. She no longer had that much strength.

As the little girl emerged from her mother's body, Deirdre whispered, "Goddess, protect my child. My blood for hers. I make this sacrifice freely." The Goddess granted her request, as she promised she would, and the last thing Deirdre McCormick Barton heard before the Lord and Lady welcomed her into their eternal, loving embrace was the cry of her baby daughter. But Deirdre knew it was not the end.

. . .

Hell was the home of demons and evil. Not all Legacy members believed in hell. Not the place. But in the days following his wife's murder, Douglas Barton grew to believe in hell. The Legacy precept was in Washington DC for a conference when he was called home. His wife and daughters were attacked by that Neanderthal, Jonathan Boyle. . .although that was an insult to the ancestors of the human race. But it would have to do for the moment.

Douglas, and his childhood friend Father Nathaniel Hughes, immediately flew back to Santa Fe, but by the time they reached home, it was too late. Douglas lost his wife, his mate, his lover, his dearest friend. Deirdre died in childbirth. . .and Val was still fighting for her life. As he kissed his wife's cold forehead in farewell, Douglas quietly vowed to avenge the harm done to his family, no matter what the cost to himself. The nightmare didn't end with his wife's death. If anything, that was only the beginning. Only two nights earlier, after Douglas spent some time with his baby daughter, his final gift from Deirdre, he went to Valerie's hospital room. . .only to find Jonathan Boyle looming over his terrified daughter. Enraged, Douglas ordered the San Francisco House member from his daughter's room, then turned his attention to comforting the twelve year old.

It took time to calm her down. A long time. Once the bastard was gone from her room, Valerie sobbed helplessly in his arms. Out in the hallway, Marissa was screaming at Boyle in languages that Douglas didn't think she knew. Overnight, his eldest daughter went from a teenager trying to be 'cool' into an enraged lioness protecting her young. If Douglas didn't hurt so badly, he would have laughed. What he heard from his middle daughter, once she calmed down, drove away any laughter remaining in his soul.

Valerie admitted that Boyle was trying to frighten her into lying about what happened to her mother. Told her that the Legacy was such a dangerous profession. . .and wouldn't it be a terrible thing if she was to lose her grieving father so soon after her mother's death? Grieving men made mistakes. . .often fatal ones. Shouldn't Valerie re-think what she said about the attack on her mother? That was the final straw. Even if Douglas could forgive Jonathan Boyle for his drunken attack on his family, he could never forgive the other man for threatening his daughter while he was sober. Douglas begged Edmund Tremain to call a tribunal against Boyle. Douglas wasn't sure why he went to Tremain. The old man never made a secret of his dislike of Deirdre or his opinion of witches. Perhaps Douglas believed that as a Legacy precept, Tremain would believe in holding murderers accountable for their actions. He was wrong.

He was wrong about Tremain. . .oh, he was so wrong about that man. He was right about Derek Rayne, however. Boyle successfully pulled the wool over that boy's eyes. Had him convinced that Boyle was a great guy, that Douglas was an incompetent fool who couldn't manage his House, and that his daughter was a liar who couldn't accept that her mother was gone. Even now, Douglas shuddered with impotent rage, almost sick as he remembered how condescending Rayne was. Now, with that conversation concluded, Douglas replaced the phone in its cradle. It was a three way conversation between London, Santa Fe, and San Francisco. And it successfully destroyed the little remaining loyalty he felt for the Legacy. He slowly left the doctor's office and headed to Valerie's hospital room. He had to be with his girls. As he walked, he silently vowed that this wasn't over. He _would_ find a way to avenge his wife's death.

Riss was with her younger sister, as she often was these days. She felt guilty for not protecting Valerie and their mother, Douglas realized. She was so impatient with Valerie before. . .before things went to hell. No worse than any other teenager with a younger sibling, but when Boyle almost killed Valerie, Riss's protective instincts went into overdrive, to the point of feeling guilty about being a typical teenager. Both sisters looked up as Douglas entered the room, but it was the older girl asked "You talked to London? Told them about Boyle coming into Val's room and threatening you if she didn't change her story?" Douglas nodded. . .oh, yes, he made a point of telling them THAT part. . .and Riss continued, growing excited, "What are they gonna do about it? They're gonna kick him out of the Legacy, aren't they?"

It took all of his strength to shake his head. Riss and Val looked at each other. Douglas sat down on Val's bed and explained to his daughters with a heavy heart, "No, baby. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The sisters once more looked at each other, as if they were hearing something that made no sense to them. Douglas swallowed hard, wishing he could lie to the girls. But he couldn't. He couldn't betray Deirdre like that.

He rubbed at his forehead wearily, looking at both girls. They both looked like Deirdre. . .they both had her dark eyes. Valerie's eyes were a combination of her parents. leaning more toward Deirdre's slightly lighter eyes when she was happy and almost black during times of intense emotion. . .as they were now. Douglas sighed, "Nothing will be done. As far as Rayne and Tremain are concerned, no crime took place. It's over. Boyle will remain in the Legacy, and he won't be punished in any way."

He didn't tell them about Rayne's assertion that a 'brave man like Jonathan Boyle' would never harm innocents. He didn't tell them that Tremain clearly indicated that even if the attack took place, Deirdre probably brought it on herself. Everyone knew that only priests and precepts were qualified magick-users in the Legacy. He didn't tell them that Valerie's statement to the police was dismissed as a hysterical child's rage, following her mother's death. That, according to the other two precepts, she dreamed Boyle's appearance in her room.

Tremain spoke to Valerie for maybe two minutes while she was sedated. Over the phone, no less. He didn't even bother coming to Santa Fe to talk to the girl. How could he say, based on that interview, that she was lying? Douglas realized once more than his wife was right about him. . .Deirdre was unerringly correct when she described the precept of the Ruling House as a lying coward. But Douglas should have realized that after the events from two years prior.

Would have, could have, should have. All those would have, could have, and should haves would never bring his wife back to him. They wouldn't repair the damage done to his daughter's spine, ribs, and kidneys by Jonathan Boyle's heavy boots. They wouldn't change anything. They were words. Just like the Legacy's oath to protect the innocent. Just words. Just lies. The Legacy was filled with liars. The Legacy was a lie. And one day, he would pay back the liars who killed his wife, who almost killed his two younger daughters. He would make them all pay. He would make them all sorry, and he would take all the time he needed to balance the scales. The Legacy ruined his life. He would destroy the Legacy from the inside out. No. No, he would save the Legacy from itself. From men like Jonathan Boyle, Derek Rayne, and Edmund Tremain.

For now, he had to concentrate on the present. The past was done, and the future wasn't important at the moment. He would worry about the future later. His priority now was his children. Riss went white, and tears materalized in Val's eyes. He took each girl's hand and said softly, "It will be all right. Tremain, Boyle and Rayne will pay for what they did to your mother. They'll pay for what they did to Valerie, and to the baby. I promise you. They will pay." The two girls nodded and Douglas released their hands, putting an arm around their shoulders instead. He didn't know how, but all three men would pay dearly. It took him many years, but he eventually carried out that promise. It began when he made an unholy alliance.'All it cost him in return was his soul. . .and the hope of ever seeing his three daughters again. But it would not end there. Oh no. There was far more damage Douglas Barton planned to do.


	2. The Middle: Vancouver, 1986

Truth or Consequences: Part Two

Vancouver, 1986

Two years ago, he made a promise to himself, to avenge his dead wife. Two years was an eternity. . .two years was the blink of an eye. It felt like an eternity, waiting those two years to set his plans into motion, though he knew it was necessary. In order to accomplish his objectives, it would take him time. Perhaps a long time. He knew they were expecting him to react quickly, if he reacted at all.

It occurred to him that the latter was quite likely. After all, as far as Rayne, Tremain, and Boyle were considered, they did nothing wrong. It was a 'regrettable incident' in the eyes of those three bastards. Deirdre was a witch, she deserved to die, and Douglas was a good little Legacy precept. He even let Tremain test the mage abilities of his ten year old daughter. It would never occur to him to strike back at the Legacy! He knew that the Legacy was the be all and the end all, and any innocent was to be sacrificed for the good of the Legacy.

He didn't know if any of the three murderers actually said something so self-aggrandizing. However, any time he started doubting those things. . .he remembered his wife's memorial service. Remembered how Sir Edmund threatened to kick out any member of the Legacy who attended the funeral services of a known witch. They were all fully prepared to defy him, of course. None of them took kindly to being told what to do by that old fool. But he and Nathaniel asked them not to come. . .out of respect for Deirdre's memory. If Sir Edmund was defied, he would 'cleanse' Santa Fe House.

Douglas did not want that. He needed time. So, he devoted that year to his three daughters. To Marissa, who was home during holidays. . .to Valerie, who faced such a long, tedious recovery after what Boyle did to her. And to Kerry, his baby. He heard the pained whispers of the others in his House. He didn't blame them, any of them, for what the Legacy did. They mourned Deirdre, just as he did, and they helped him to take care of his daughters.

Two weeks after Deirdre's murder, his youngest House member, Angel Montoya, came to him. He was from Latin America, where the old and new religions combined. And he could not remain in the Legacy when Deirdre's murderer was not held accountable. Much to the precept's gratification, not a single member of his House doubted Valerie when she told what happened that day, or in her hospital room.

That gesture of support wasn't enough to deter him from carrying out his revenge against the three Legacy members who destroyed his family. There wasn't a force on earth capable of that. But to thank his loyal House members, even the ones who quit the Legacy, Douglas kept silent about his plans. He didn't want to implicate any of them, any more than they would be. In the Legacy, guilt by association ruled. You were guilty if the people you considered your friends were guilty. He would use the same rules with his people that he did with his daughters. The less they knew, the better, and the more effective he would be when the time came.

Ten months after his wife's murder, he was transferred to Vancouver. That bastard Tremain actually patted him on the back when he arrived in Vancouver, saying how pleased he was that Douglas got over that regrettable incident involving the woman. It took all the self-control Douglas possessed not to slam his fist into Tremaine's smug face. Regrettable incident. That was what he called murder. And he couldn't even grant Deirdre the courtesy of calling her Douglas' wife. Bastard. He would get his.

And that started today. Payback started today. After two years of cultivating contacts, of research, and of planning, Douglas would finally push over the first domino in his campaign against the Legacy. The Legacy was sick. . .it had a terrible cancer eating away at it. But he would stop the cancer. He would make the Legacy great once more, would right this terrible injustice, or he would die trying.

It was early in the morning when he left. . .the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, and his children were asleep. Except for Marissa. She was in California, attending college. After her mother's death, she couldn't bear going to one of the universities in New Mexico. He wouldn't have to worry about her. . .she was almost twenty years old, a grown woman. She would be fine. At least, that was what he kept telling himself. . .had to keep telling himself. Otherwise, he would lose his nerve, and betray his wife's memory.

It was his two younger daughters who concerned him the most. Kerry was two years old. Just a baby. And Valerie was fourteen. . .a preternaturally mature woman-child. Legacy brats, like military brats, were forced to grow up faster than their counterparts in the private sector. Douglas knew this, for he was a Legacy brat himself. But he grew up in a far different time, nor did he suffer because of a parent's weakness, as Valerie suffered because of his. His middle daughter nearly lost her sanity and her life when she was ten years old. And the attack that killed his wife also severely damaged the young girl's spine. Valerie was in a wheelchair for months after the attack. It was a long road back. . .but his little girl made it.

Yes, Valerie was far too mature. . .but she was still only fourteen, and she still needed protection. He could no longer provide that protection. As Douglas stared at his daughters, his fear returned. What if he failed, and in some horrible twist of fate, all three murderers survived what he planned for them? What if he was discovered, and the Legacy took action against his children? It was guilt by association once more. His children were guilty of whatever crimes he committed, just as they were guilty because their mother was a witch.

Douglas flinched, but forced himself to remember the months following his wife's death. Valerie's healing took a very long time. When she wasn't in physical therapy for her spine, she was reading. Studying. Leo Herzog continued his visits to the House, teaching her Hebrew. In addition, Valerie began learning Greek. . .fitting, Douglas thought, since she was born in Greece. The rest of the House tutored her in her weaker subjects. Given how much his second daughter loved books, Douglas knew it was the happiest she could have been under the circumstances.

When they moved to Vancouver in April of 1985, Valerie was still in her wheelchair. By the time school started in September, it was discovered she was at the same level, academically, as a high school sophomore. After an involved conversation with the ever-present Nathaniel, as well as Valerie's teachers, Douglas enrolled her in the local high school. The thirteen year old sophomore raised more than a few eyebrows, but she gradually won the respect of her new classmates. Oh, she wasn't the most popular girl in school, but she won acceptance and respect.

That, he knew, was small comfort to his middle daughter. Many times in the two years since Deirdre's death, Douglas heard Valerie crying at night. She believed she could have saved her mother. She was wrong. The fate of her mother rested in the hands of three men, not in the hands of a defenseless twelve year old girl. The three men whom Douglas was leaving the Legacy, in order to destroy them all. Jonathan Boyle, Derek Rayne, and Edmund Tremain. Two precepts, and a simple Legacy member. Not so simple, however, not after what Boyle did. Tremain and Rayne didn't see it that way. They said there was no crime. With that decision, Douglas made a decision of his own. He was done with the Legacy. Oh, he would still fight the good fight. He would still protect the innocent.

But he would do it on his terms. . .not the Legacy's. The Legacy allowed his wife's murderer to go free. The Legacy allowed his children to be threatened. The Legacy was nothing more than a sham, an illusion. And if his wife's old flame, Reed Horton, Douglas would have apologized to the other man for not believing him. . .would have asked his aid to avenge Deirdre's murder. And along with his faith in the Legacy, his faith in a loving God was shattered. Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, his best friend would have said. Not good enough. It was time for Douglas Barton to mete out justice.

But to do that, he had to die. He had to make the Legacy believe he was dead. He made that decision long ago. . .it was the only way he knew to protect his daughters. That was why he could not discovered, at least not yet. If he was believed to be dead, the Legacy would never think to blame him, at least in the beginning. . .and would therefore leave his daughters alone. Let them find their own ways, and their own truths. Which was why Douglas was leaving early.

Before he could leave, however, he had to look upon his daughters one last time. Right now, it was Kerry and Valerie's turn, for he would see Marissa one last time, from a distance, when he went to California. Right now, Douglas watched Valerie sleep. . .he wouldn't see her graduate from high school. He wouldn't see her get married, or have children. That was his sacrifice, his punishment, but it was worth it. She was worth it, Marissa was worth it, as was little Kerry. _My God_, he thought, gazing at his middle daughter, _she's beautiful. I never told her how beautiful she is. I should have told her. So many things left unsaid!_

He tenderly kissed her forehead, murmuring, "I love you, my beautiful girl, and I am so proud of you. Take good care of your little sister. And maybe one day, you'll be able to forgive me. For everything." He kissed her dark hair, then left the room. He still had to say good-bye to Kerry. The toddler, named Kerry Isis by her sisters, slept in the room adjoining Valerie's. Douglas closed the door behind him, only to find his youngest daughter already awake. Of course she would be awake. He wouldn't get away with leaving his family that easily. Douglas accepted this penance without question. He was leaving his daughters, his own legacy from Deirdre, and he was becoming what he hated so much. Yes, this was the absolute least penance that he deserved for the sins he was about to commit.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy," she chanted, holding out her arms to him. Douglas swept her up into his arms, holding her tightly. Valerie gave her a bath just before bedtime, and Douglas could still smell the shampoo in his daughter's hair this morning. It was Valerie's favorite shampoo, and Kerry insisted that her sister use the same on her hair. Lilac. . .funny, now that he thought about it, lilac was one of his wife's favorite scents as well. Or not so funny. He could swear Deirdre's soul lived on in Valerie.

"I have to go away, my little one," Douglas whispered to his daughter, amazed at the strength in her tiny body. There were times when he swore he was destined to be surrounded by strong women. His mother, his wife, his daughters. . .all three of them. Douglas kissed Kerry's dark hair and continued, "I have to go away. But I want you to know. . .never forget. . .how much I love you. How much I love your sisters."

"Where go, Daddy?" the little girl asked, focusing on the only word she understood out of what Douglas just told her, "Why go? Me bad?"

Tears formed in her big brown eyes, immediately turning her father into a puddle of goo, and Douglas immediately reassured her, "Of course not, sweetheart. . .you're a good girl! You're my very best girl. But that's why I'm going away. Sometimes, Kerry, sometimes we have to do things that other people won't think are good, but really are. I'm going away so I don't hurt you, or your sisters."

He could tell from her glazed expression that she didn't understand what he meant. There was no way she could understand him. Douglas realized that he would have to do what he hated most. Lie to his child. He lifted her from her bed and carried her to a nearby rocking chair. Once they were seated, he told her softly, "I won't be gone long, princess." She looked up at him trustingly, and for a moment, Douglas considered scrapping the whole plan. Forget revenge, forget payback. . .stay with his girls. Then the memory of his wife's cold forehead returned. He couldn't end things like this. Douglas forced himself to say, "I just. . .sometimes, I'm afraid that if I leave the House for even a few moments, I'll never see you or your sisters again. I'll be back." Those were the words Kerry would understand, would remember.

"You be back?" Kerry asked, blinking back her tears, and Douglas nodded. He was close to tears himself, but for a different reason. He never lied to his children before, swore to himself after Deirdre's death that he would never lie to his children, not even to protect them. They encountered too many lies from the Legacy. And now here he was, breaking a promise. He was becoming that which he hated most. It was already starting.

"P'om'se?" the little girl persisted, and Douglas cursed himself. He frightened his daughter with his talk about loving her and her sisters forever, and made this that much more difficult. If he kept his mouth shut, this wouldn't be happening. _Stupid, weak fool_, he raged at himself, _you don't deserve any of them! You never have, you never will, and you'll do them a favor by staying out of their lives from now on!_

"I promise you, love, I'll be back," he answered, despite the lump in his throat. Kerry relaxed, resting her head against his chest. Of course she would relax. He never broke a promise to her. Not before today. And it killed him to break this promise, but that would be his punishment to bear, not his daughters. But even as that thought crossed his mind, he knew it to be a lie as well. He knew his daughters would bear this punishment. The only question was, which girl it would affect most. Douglas shook his head, determined to follow this through.

"Now," he said, "back to bed you go. Let your sister sleep as long as she likes today. No, don't pout, that's not what a big girl does. I'll see you when I get home." He rose to his feet and carried Kerry back to bed. Douglas kissed her forehead, murmuring, "Sleep well, baby. Happy dreams." He caressed her dark hair, then quietly slipped from the room. There was no more time. He had to leave for San Francisco. Now. He returned to his room and picked up his bags. He only had three. One bag for his clothing, one for his keepsakes and pictures of his children, and the last. . .the last bag was for his mission. This last bag was slung over his shoulder, while he picked up the two bags beside it. He walked quietly down the stairs, silently opened the door, and left the Legacy House. He did not look back.

Douglas paused at a pay phone en route to the airport to call Boston. Justin Adams was his college roommate, and while Douglas knew Nathaniel would take care of the girls, a back-up plan was needed. If anything happened to Nathaniel, Justin and his wife Madeline could watch over the girls. They had two children, Kristen and Ethan. If the worst happened, she would get two more. Unfair, he knew. Justin didn't even make time for his own family, but Douglas understood that. Ever since his infant daughter Claire was killed, Justin drove himself blindly. His work with the Legacy was his way of dealing with the guilt of being unable to protect Claire from her kidnappers. It was a long time ago. There was no way Claire was still alive.

With that done, Douglas continued to the airport. Within two hours, he was on the flight bound for San Francisco. He tried to relax, but images kept parading through his head. Valerie lying in her hospital bed after Jonathan Boyle tried to intimidate her into changing her story. Marissa at Deirdre's funeral, barely able to hold back her tears as her mother's ashes were scattered on the wind. Deirdre, as he saw her that last time before his departure for that damn conference. Laughing, only weeks from giving birth to their youngest daughter. And Kerry, as Douglas saw her only a few hours earlier. Once more, he cursed himself for falling into Tremain's trap. Well, now the tables were turned, and a trap of another sort was being laid. This was one trap for the price of two. . .the trap Tremain created for Valerie in that damnable test four years earlier.

Douglas couldn't think of that now. He had to focus. Douglas wondered how long it would take his people to realize that he wouldn't be coming back. Not that long, he was sure. None of his people were stupid. As soon as they learned of Jonathan Boyle's death, it wouldn't take them long at all to put the pieces together. However, would they tell the Legacy hierarchy? And even if they did tell them what they knew, would the hierarchy realize that his people were innocent? Douglas doubted it. That was why his people knew nothing of this mission. If they didn't know about his plans, their lives wouldn't be ruined.

At long last, he landed in San Francisco. Three days from now, Jonathan Boyle would no longer exist. Three days from now, the payback would begin. The countdown to retribution had begun. And Douglas knew he had a lot of work to do in those three days. He gave a harsh laugh. Three days to death, three days to life. Too bad it was June. . .Easter would have been more appropriate for what he planned.

. . .

"It took you long enough," he said as Douglas Barton entered the house. The former Legacy precept just grunted, tossing him a look saying, 'you should know better than that.' However, he never really doubted that Douglas Barton would show up. There was too much hatred in him to back out of their deal, no matter how much he loved his daughters. Three and three, it evened out quite nicely. Three daughters to avenge. . . three men to destroy. But the only one who concerned him now was Jonathan Boyle. He really was becoming a pest, and Cranshaw knew that he had a goal in common with the former Legacy precept. Douglas Barton wanted Boyle to pay for killing his wife. Crenshaw wanted Boyle to stop nosing around things that didn't concern him. It worked out beautifully, all things considered.

"We have two days yet. You knew I would fulfill my end of the bargain," Barton answered and Cranshaw nodded. The former precept continued, "So what exactly is it that you want me to do? Lure him here? That would be kind of redundant, don't you think? He's coming for you. And what makes you think that he would trust me?"

"Lure him? No. . .confirm his suspicions, however. . .that would be helpful. You could tell him that you've been tracking me as well," Cranshaw suggested. During the last few days, he spent a great deal of time thinking about this, actually. Some degree of intelligence was required when you were baiting a trap, and you needed the right amount of this and the right amount of that. He smiled darkly, adding, "In fact, you could tell him that I killed one of your daughters, and that's why you're tracking me. Tell him, that he owes you."

Barton raised a brow, then said, "You think he gives a damn? He threatened my life, trying to force my daughter into recanting the truth about my wife's death!" Cranshaw acknowledged this point. It surprised him. Most Legacy members would have never dreamed of doing something so devious. On the other hand, Cransaw's Master did tell him that Boyle was halfway to being one of Theirs. Barton continued, "But that gives me an idea. Would you agree that most abusers feel threatened somehow?"

Cranshaw looked at the former Legacy precept in astonishment. . .Barton was asking HIM? They were both former Legacy members, yes, but even so! Barton added hastily, "Okay, wrong person to ask! But you gave me an idea. Something I've learned over the last few years is that as an abuser, Boyle feels threatened by anyone who challenges his perceptions. That's why he killed my wife, because she was a witch and because she challenged his manhood. So. . ."

Cranshaw was sure there was a point to this drivel, and he waited patiently as Barton murmured to himself. The man was working something out in his head, and as Cranshaw listened, he figured it out. He asked, "So, what you're saying is, you'll contact Boyle and challenge his manhood to get him to the ambush. Clever. But how exactly do you plan on doing that, my dear Dr. Barton? Boyle is no fool. Neither of us like him, but he isn't a fool."

Barton smiled grimly, answering, "Oh, but he is. That's the beauty of it. Say I call him. . .perhaps at home, or at the Legacy House. Better the Legacy House, especially if Derek Rayne is there as well. I don't want Boyle's wife or son to get involved with this. They've done nothing to me. I tell him that I've been tracking you as well, because you killed my daughter, Valerie. I remind him that he tried to kill Valerie himself, and tell him that by helping me, he's being given a chance to atone for what he did."

Cranshaw blinked, asking, "And as you so eloquently put it a few moments ago, why would he care?" His companion laughed softly, and Bryan Cranshaw cocked his head, looking at Douglas Barton. Once more, he wondered if he could fully seduce the former precept to the Dark. He was, after all, halfway there. He sought out and made a deal with the devil to avenge his wife's death. He was carrying out that deal. Perhaps another time, when Barton was no longer driven by hatred and love. After he stopped caring altogether. . .about his wife, about his daughters, about himself. Evil was most powerful when people simply didn't give a damn. That was why unwitting operatives such as Jonathan Boyle were so vital to the Dark. The Legacy would fall because of their own stupidity and their own arrogance.

Once, Cranshaw was like Douglas Barton. He had a wife he adored. . .four wonderful children who made him very proud. That was in the late seventeenth century, in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. The time of the Salem Witch Trials. His wife was beautiful, and for that, she was burned at the stake as a witch. She who never encouraged the attentions she received from any of the men in their village. . .she whose only crime, aside from her beauty, was her Sight. She was burned at the stake in the hysteria surrounding the witch hunts.

At that time, his name was Branson Cranshaw, and it wasn't until the twentieth century that he changed it to 'Bryan,' to make him fit in better. And Branson Cranshaw went insane with grief. They thought his beautiful, gentle wife was evil, did they? He would show them evil! He called upon the dark forces to avenge his wife, and in return, he would give them his soul once his children were grown. Once they were safe.

Oh yes. Once, he was much like Douglas Barton. Perhaps that was why he agreed to meet with the man. There was no way to be certain, but Cranshaw thought Barton resembled the first of the Cranshaw boys. Could it be this man was his descendent? Anything was possible, and if there was anything remotely human left within Branson Cranshaw, it would have wept that this possible distant child of his was becoming what Cranshaw was now. But. . .there was nothing human remaining with him. That made his infiltration of the Legacy so delicious.

Barton was answering him now, and listening to the man's plan, Cranshaw had to admit he had several good points. The former precept explained, "That's what I mean about the beauty of the plan. I remind him that he tried to kill Valerie, and tell him this is his chance to atone. Men take responsibility for their actions, after all, or so I was taught. Let's see if Boyle is man enough to atone for what he did to my daughter."

Cranshaw took only a few moments to think this through. Barton was right. . . Boyle could never resist that challenge to his masculinity. That was something Cranshaw learned as his partner. Then he nodded approvingly, saying, "Do it. Make the call. . .you know what to say." Barton smiled coldly and Cranshaw again had to regret that they were on the same side for only this battle. The man would have made an excellent ally. He could still. If Cranshaw was willing to wait. He thought briefly about killing one of Barton's daughters, and making it look like the Legacy was involved, then shook his head. No, that would be pure stupidity. One thing he learned about Barton. . .the man was relentless. If Cranshaw did something so stupid, Barton would eventually find him out, and then. . . Besides. He was no longer human, but that didn't mean he wanted to kill one of his descendents. She wasn't in his way, after all.

Very well, then patience would have to do. Patience that eventually Barton would realize just how hollow revenge against the three men responsible for his wife's death truly was. Patience that he would kill until there was nothing of his soul left. Patience that in time, not even his beloved daughters would mean anything to him. Just as he hoped Boyle would eventually realize that hurting other people would not heal his own wounds. Unfortunately for him, Boyle wasn't nearly as smart as Barton. That stupidity would cost him his life.

Once Douglas Barton reached that point, once he began killing because it filled the empty space in his heart where his wife once lived, then Cranshaw would lure him to the other side. The job was half-done, of course, when he turned against the Legacy. But there was far more work to be done, and turning against the Legacy didn't mean turning against good. It didn't mean that at all. But maybe one day, it would.

. . .

Back in Vancouver, a storm raged within the House. . .once Valerie Barton awakened on the day of her father's departure, she knew what happened. She always knew a day would come when she would wake to chaos because her father left unexpectedly, without a word to anyone else in his House. She just hoped she was wrong. The question now, what would she do about it. . . if anything? Was there anything she could do?

The Legacy could just wait. Valerie's first priority was her younger sister. Kerry was the last one to see her father, and he assured her that he would come back. When the day ended without his return, the little girl realized that he lied to her. Not that she would admit to this at first. She was two years old, after all, just a baby. Worse, Val knew that the child would be questioned by the Legacy hierarchy. She knew Sir Edmund Tremain, and she didn't trust him. And so, for the first time in her young life, Val consciously made a decision to lie. She would keep her baby sister away from the Legacy hierarchy. Toddler or not, Valerie just knew the Ruling precept would try to find a way to interrogate the small girl. That would not be tolerated. It was long past time that Sir Edmund Tremain learned you could only push a Barton female so far. That wasn't the only decision she made.

The second decision came at the end of the second day. She called her older sister Marissa in San Diego, and told her the news. As she was taught by both her father and her godfather, Val obtained a secure channel first, before calling her older sister. And then, she waited. . .waited for the sky to fall on them all. It was only a matter of time, and Valerie learned from her mother that you used the time you had to prepare.

The sky fell only hours after she called her older sister. The entire Ruling House arrived at the Vancouver Legacy House. That was something Valerie expected. What she didn't expect was the way the Vancouver House closed ranks around her and Kerry, after London House arrived at the House. From the moment they arrived, the members of Vancouver House made sure no member of London House even approached Valerie or Kerry. Valerie would see them when she was damn good and ready. Not before then. Her father was a precept who was very fortunate in his people, at all his Houses.

In the years which followed that day, before she went away to college, Valerie learned many interesting things about her father's final Legacy House. In the view of the members of Vancouver House, Valerie was only fourteen years old. Her father just disappeared without a word to anyone, she didn't know what was happening to her father or her family, and she didn't need to deal with Edmund Tremain's Spanish Inquisition.

Valerie was stunned by this show of support, though she knew she shouldn't have been. She should have remembered the days after her mother's death. Angelo Montoya leaving the Legacy because Sir Edmund decreed no member of the House could attend the funeral of a known witch. The other members of the House quietly closing rank around the three girls, shielding them from the scrutiny of the Legacy. She should have remembered many things, but she didn't. So now, she spent all of her time caring for her inconsolable baby sister. On the third day after her father's disappearance, and the day after London House arrived, Valerie finally made her appearance. She sensed that her father was avenging her mother, and wasn't sure how she felt about that. Should she be grateful that he was making sure no more children would lose their mothers? Was she angry because he left them alone, when they still needed him?

She knew she was angry with the Legacy. Not with the individual members, but that such an organization allowed monsters like Jonathan Boyle and others free rein to harm innocents. She couldn't remember what happened when she was ten. She knew something happened, something terrible, because there was a huge hole in her memory. A week-long hole, and Valerie wasn't sure if she wanted to remember.

The high school junior chose to make her entrance during Kerry's nap, dressing as professionally as her wardrobe allowed. Valerie had a black knit dress that she wore to funerals and a pair of black pumps. That would do nicely. She showered and dressed, pulling her dark hair back into a bun to look much older than her true age. Again, remembering what her sister told her, Valerie wore the bare minimum of makeup. She wanted to seem older, not like a little girl who got into her mother's cosmetic bag. To finish the effect, she wore the pearl earrings her mother bought for her, a final gift from Deirdre McCormick Barton. The effect worked quite well, she thought, and Valerie asked for an escort from her father's team. She received it, and descended the staircase of the Vancouver Legacy House on the arm of her father's security chief. He was a big man, standing well over six feet, and once they reached the contingent from the London House, he remained at her side. It was a message to the Ruling House, one received loud and clear by all members.

If Sir Edmund thought he could cow her, he was terribly mistaken. Valerie spent the last two years strengthening her body, her mind, and her very soul. He questioned her thoroughly, even when her protector Dallas glowered at him. Dallas was a dear. . .a former quarterback from Texas State University, who was taught that only cowards struck a woman. And striking a pregnant woman, who was even more sacred, was nothing short of blasphemy. No one asked what he thought about striking a child protecting her mother. . .but it was not necessary.

Within days of his arrival at Vancouver House, Dallas heard the story of her mother's death. . .it got around quickly, and Dallas went to her father. He was a Christian, believed in the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. . .but he didn't believe for one moment what was said about Deirdre. She raised three wonderful girls, and there was no way she deserved to die, much less the way she did. He nodded once, very sharply, and walked out of her father's office.

Later, her father asked him to take on extra duties, aside from being security chief. He wanted Dallas to watch over Valerie and Kerry. And by God, that was what he was doing now. He said that, too, glowering right back at Sir Edmund Tremain. He told the London precept that it was men like him and Jonathan Boyle who made Dallas ashamed to be a Christian and even more ashamed to be a member of the Legacy. That comment drew frowns from London and cheers from Vancouver. Valerie had a very hard time keeping her own face straight.

There would be consequences for that, of course. There always were. And Tremain tried to take those consequences out on the Barton girls. When the precept demanded to see Valerie's baby sister, the young girl answered in a cold, crisp voice, "I think not. I remember the way you question people, Sir Edmund, especially little girls. You're getting nowhere near my sister. And you'll find that I'm much stronger than I used to be."

Tremain took a step forward. Only one. . .Dallas moved out from behind Valerie and shifted himself in front of Valerie, so that he stood between the girl and the precept. He said in a menacing voice that probably scared opposing players to death, "The lady said no. Where I come from, 'no' means 'no.' Call it unsophisticated, call it simple-minded, but I call it good manners. Too bad you have none."

Oh yes. Vancouver House would definitely pay for that one. Valerie could hear it in the stirring among London House, could see it in Tremain's eyes, which grew stormy with rage. Dallas either didn't know the consequences of mouthing off to the Ruling precept or simply didn't care. Knowing Dallas, though, he just didn't care. The former football player added, "Now, I was told when I joined the Legacy that this was an organization dedicated to the protection of innocents. Nothing was ever said about bullying young girls."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr Wentworth. We are trying to get answers, and it is my firm belief that Dr Barton told his youngest daughter where he was going," Sir Edmund said stiffly. If he thought that would get the men and women of Vancouver House to back down, he was wrong. If anything, the circle closed around Valerie even more protectively, and now the teen could feel the glares directed at the entire London House. Further, the remark backfired, because the young girl also saw members of the Ruling House glaring at their precept. . .like Dallas, they didn't sign on to bully children.

"Sir Edmund, Kerry Barton is two years old. What possible help could a two year old child, who can barely speak properly, be to our investigation?" one of the younger members of London House asked, a youngish woman. Valerie fought her desire to defend her sister, but years of self-control paid off, and she maintained her silence. Sir Edmund didn't answer, as he was trying to stare down Valerie.

It wasn't working. The teen felt her father's security chief place his hand in the small of her back, both supporting and comforting her with his touch. Valerie said coolly, "My sister knows nothing. My father told her nothing. If I were you, I would suggest you look to your own past mistakes, Sir Edmund, for clues about what my father is doing." The words came out before Valerie could stop them, but she couldn't let herself feel guilty about that.

"Past mistakes? What is she talking about, Sir Edmund?" asked that same woman. She looked from the precept to Valerie and back again. Again, the members of Vancouver House pressed closer to the daughter of their precept. The woman repeated, her eyes narrowing, "Sir Edmund. You're not denying what this young girl said. What kinds of mistakes have been made that would lead Douglas Barton to leave his two young daughters alone?"

"I can answer that, ma'am. Two years ago, a member of San Francisco House was visiting Santa Fe to make sure Douglas Barton was running his House properly. This man, Jonathan Boyle, had a real hard time finding out what he wanted to know, 'cause most of the House realized he was up to no good. Now, at this same time, Dr Barton's wife, Valerie's mama Deirdre, was eight months pregnant with Kerry," Dallas explained in a slow, deliberate voice.

Another member of Vancouver House, researcher Shelby Young, continued, "According to most stories, Jonathan Boyle found a pendant that led him to believe Deirdre Barton was a witch. He confronted her while drunk and tried to perform an exorcism. When it didn't work, he became enraged and attacked her. Her two daughters, seventeen year old Marissa and twelve year old Valerie intervened. . .and Valerie was almost killed."

"Deirdre went into premature labor as a result of the attack, and died while giving birth to baby Kerry. Shortly after her father's return from Washington DC, Valerie awoke to find Jonathan Boyle looming over her. He threatened her with her father's death, if she didn't change her story. Unfortunately for Boyle, Douglas Barton entered at that point and found Boyle getting in his daughter's face. At that point, Dr Barton made a fatal mistake. He took his case to the precept of the Ruling House, one Sir Edmund Tremain," Dallas picked up the narrative once more.

"According to your dear precept, no crime took place, because Valerie Barton lied about the attack on her mother, and about Jonathan Boyle's threats. Tremain and the San Francisco precept were stupid enough not to check out all sources. They didn't talk to the staff of Santa Fe House. They didn't talk to Leo Herzog, Valerie's tutor. They didn't talk to Marissa Barton. All of whom could have told them that Jonathan Boyle was the liar," Shelby concluded.

The woman from London House glared at Sir Edmund, snarling, "Is this true?" He didn't look at her, and she repeated, invading his space with little regard for those consequences, "Is this true? Did you allow the murderer of this girl's mother to go free?" Sir Edmund still said nothing, staring into Valerie's eyes with pure hatred. Valerie didn't look away. She owed this man big time. . .and if disgracing him in front of his House was her best chance, so be it. The way she saw it, she was buying her father time to do whatever he meant to do. Maybe his actions were wrong, but he was still her father.

. . .

It was ridiculously easy to carry out their plan, even easier than Douglas anticipated. He waited until the third day after his disappearance before calling Boyle at the Legacy House. This was actually Cranshaw's idea. They needed those three days to get organized. They were organized, and now they had all the time in the world. He hoped. With the Legacy, that was always in question.

By now, he was sure the Legacy hierarchy knew of his disappearance, even if they didn't know the reason. That was both good and bad. If they figured out what he was up to, they wouldn't have as much time as he needed. . .but at the same time, he wanted Tremain to know what he was doing. He wanted the old goat to know that he would be next. For now, Douglas could only pray Val remembered her mother's death, and the aftermath, when she was dealing with Sir Edmund Tremain. She didn't remember. . .the other time.

As luck would have it, most of San Francisco House knew only that Douglas disappeared. They knew nothing of Sir Edmund's interviews with Vancouver House, if those interviews did indeed take place. This, Douglas learned while he was waiting for Boyle to come to the phone. Jane Witherspoon, one of the most respected members of Boston House, was in San Francisco for a meeting with Derek Rayne, and she answered the phone.

It was to Jane that he told the first lie. He told her that he went rogue to track down his daughter's killer. The Legacy tried to tie his hands to prevent further deaths, and Jane bought the story. Douglas knew he had his own fierce protectiveness of his daughters to thank for that. After the death of his wife, and after Tremain refused to believe Valerie, Douglas refused to allow Tremain, or any other Legacy precept, access to any of his children.

He wouldn't even take Marissa with him when he was ordered to appear at a Legacy tribunal as a judge. He served with Rayne, and ignored the other man completely. When Boyle picked up the phone, it was too easy. Douglas already chose, even before he made the call, how he would carry his plan out. But Jane's grief and compassion for his 'loss,' served to convince him. Douglas said harshly, "I have a proposition for you, Jonny boy. I've been told we're on the trail of the same killer."

"I'm listening," the other man said, then added curiously, "And what the hell did you say to Jane? When she gave me the phone, she was in tears." Douglas smiled coldly. Oh, this was getting better all the time! While he initially cursed the fate that led Jane Witherspoon to answer the telephone, now it was turning into a blessing. Wasn't that the way of most things? That which you cursed ended up being a blessing. The damnable test from four years earlier was turning into such a blessing. His daughters would not trust in the Legacy so easily now.

"Because I told her what I'm about to tell you. That thing you've been after. . . I'm after it, too. It killed my little girl, my Valerie. You do remember Valerie, don't you, Jonny boy? The sweet girl you tried to kill, then called a liar four years ago? She's dead! I'm sure you're real happy about that," Douglas rasped. To his surprise, lying about his daughter's death wasn't as hard as he thought.

There was a moment of silence, then Jonathan Boyle said slowly, "I'm sorry, Barton. I never had anything against your daughter. . .she just got in the way. . ." He never had a chance to say anything, because Douglas burst into harsh, staccato laughter. Any lingering doubts or regrets for this action were quickly dying. Did he ever doubt he was doing the right thing? How stupid was that? Of course he was doing the right thing!

"Well, what did you expect? You were trying to kill her mother! Oh, that's right, how silly of me to forget! Her mother was a witch, she deserved to die. I guess since my daughter was the child of a witch, she also deserved to die, hmm? Now listen up, and don't interrupt. I've been on the trail of this thing ever since it killed my little girl. I'm offering you a chance to atone for what you did," Douglas told the other man.

He heard Boyle sputter, and Douglas went on, "You know, I was raised to believe that real men took responsibility for their actions. Tried to find a way to make things right. I'm offering that chance to you. . .assuming, of course, that you're a real man. Personally, I have doubts. I know about you, Boyle. And that idiot Derek Rayne may have bought into your 'Father Knows Best' routine, but I'm smarter than he is."

"Hey, look! I get that you hate my guts, and that you'll never trust me. But leave Derek out of this, he isn't guilty of anything!" Boyle defended. Douglas actually felt himself turn green at that statement. Derek Rayne. . .wasn't guilty. . .of anything? Just how stupid did Boyle think he was? No, he wouldn't answer that question. . .he didn't want to know. However, it still took several moments to contain his nausea.

When he could speak without vomiting, Douglas fired back, "You have got to be kidding me! What did Derek Rayne do? What is he guilty of? He knowingly and consciously sheltered a murderer, a liar, and a thief! Don't you dare tell me that he isn't guilty of anything, because he is. He is just as guilty as you and Tremain. That arrogant little toady told me that I never found you looming over my little girl, trying to intimidate her into changing her story about her mother's death!"

Cranshaw was shaking his head almost desperately, and Douglas caught his breath. Oh Christ, he almost blew it. He almost screwed up his own plan. He closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. Boyle, of course, was too stupid to leave it alone, and said, "Look! I'm sorry if I scared your kid. . .I panicked! You wanna take it outta my hide, go right ahead. But don't blame Derek when his only mistake was trusting me."

Douglas asked impatiently, "Get over yourself, Boyle. Are you gonna be a real man, and make amends? Or do you show once and for all what a coward you really are?"

There was a long silence, then Boyle asked, "When and where?" Douglas controlled his desire to laugh. . .he knew Boyle wouldn't be able to resist the challenge to his manhood. His kind never could. The trouble was, at least for Boyle, was that he was too stupid to know that in this kind of pissing contest, he would lose. He was supposed to be a Marine major, but right now, Douglas was questioning how someone so stupid could have attained that rank. It was bad enough that he was a disgrace to the uniform he once wore, but this was even worse!

The former precept was well aware that he was in a dangerous game, that his own arrogance could get him killed. But he was willing to take that chance. The truth was, in the four years since his wife's death, he found it harder and harder to go on living. If Cranshaw did kill him, at least Douglas took out Boyle. He answered, remembering the house where he met Cranshaw, "There's a house on a stretch of highway. . ." He gave the other man directions, then added, "Oh, by the way. Don't get any ideas about telling Derek Rayne. That stupid kid would probably screw things up. Come alone. Tomorrow." And then he hung up. Time to wait.

. . .

At the time of their conversation, Jane Witherspoon thought little about Douglas Barton's story. She knew Deirdre Barton, grieved when she learned of the woman's death, and grieved for the three girls. And for Douglas to lose one of his daughters, only a few years after losing his wife. . .Jane was only surprised that he didn't die from the grief. She didn't think to mention her conversation with Deirdre's husband to Derek Rayne until the following day.

She was in the control room with Derek, as they mapped out the hauntings in a five mile area, when the young precept asked absently, "Do you know where Jonathan is, Jane? He was supposed to be here, since this is his other major case." Jane frowned. . . she hadn't seen him all day, and it never occurred to her to look for him. He was one of Derek's people, after all. Besides. There was something about him she didn't trust.

Perhaps it was his affinity for alcohol, perhaps it was the way he spoke of his wife. . .that contempt for her weakness. Or what he thought was weakness. Men were stupid like that, she knew. Jane Witherspoon didn't know Jonathan Boyle's wife, but she doubted if the woman was weak. It was a mistake men often made. . .confusing true strength with brute force. It was a mistake the precept at her side also made.

"No. . .no, I haven't seen him since yesterday, when Douglas Barton called. Poor man. As if losing his wife wasn't bad enough, losing his daughter as well?" Jane asked, shaking her head and returning her whole-hearted attention to the map. She was vaguely aware of Derek straightening. Jane, like most of the Legacy, didn't know about the exact circumstances of Deirdre Barton's death. If she had. . . well, things could have been very different.

"Douglas Barton? You spoke with him?" he asked. Jane glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was only thirty-four years old, quite young for a Legacy precept, but there were times when she could have sworn he was much older. Perhaps it was watching his father die in a Peruvian cave when he was a teenager, only a few years older than Justin's daughter Kristen was now. Jane mentally added sadly, _and he was also only a year older than poor Valerie._

"Yes, yesterday. . .he called, asking to speak with Jonathan. Such a terrible tragedy, and the poor man has already lost enough. From what he told me, Douglas went rogue after the creature Jonathan has been tracking killed his middle daughter Valerie. The Ruling House forced him to stop his investigation, for fear of losing more people," Jane answered, still focusing her attention on the map.

"Oh, Gott. . .no," Derek murmured. He was silent, then said, "Jane. Are you sure he said Valerie was killed?" Jane did look away from the map and nodded. Derek continued, his voice rising and his accent thickening as it always did when he was agitated, "Then Jonathan is heading into a trap. I spoke with Sir Edmund this morning. . .Valerie has been caring for her small sister Kerry ever since Barton's disappearance."

Valerie was alive? Douglas lied to her about his daughter's death? He was so protective of his children, why would he say something like that? And. . . Jane gasped, "But why? Why would Douglas say something like that, why would he want to lead Jonathan into a trap?" The young precept began pacing, and Jane was horrified to see his obvious fear. She knew Derek for many years, and she never saw him this frightened, by anything.

"I thought it would pass, given enough time. Time to heal. But now it seems that I was wrong. Listen to me very carefully, Jane. Douglas Barton holds Jonathan responsible for his wife Deirdre's death. She died in childbirth, Jonathan had nothing to do with it. And yet his daughter Valerie swears that she was there when it happened. Jonathan swears that the child lied, for reasons of her own. I have no reason not to believe him," Derek answered. He was silent for several moments, then said, "Come! We must stop Jonathan!"

Jane followed him from the control room, as he headed to the car. She paused long enough to leave a note for the others. But she knew Valerie Barton. All children lied from time to time, but Valerie was an essentially honest girl. If she swore that she was there when her mother was killed, and that Jonathan Boyle was responsible for her death. . .then maybe, he was. As they headed out to the car, Jane made a mental note to herself. She would call Justin Adams, since he was still in Boston.

Derek was a good lad, but he could be too trusting. With his own people, he accepted them at face value, and didn't notice the things Jane did. How often Jonathan Boyle drank. The contempt in his voice when he spoke of his wife, of any woman. Jane wasn't there when Deirdre Barton was killed, but she knew certain facts. She knew that Deirdre was a witch. The Legacy strongly disapproved of witches. . . considered them in league with the Devil. And Jonathan Boyle was afraid of any woman who seemed stronger or more powerful than him. It added up to a picture that Jane didn't like.

_He feels threatened by any person who is stronger or more powerful than he is. __He shows contempt toward anyone whom he perceives as being weak. He drinks too much. He has all the classic symptoms of an abuser_, she thought numbly, _and if he learned that Deirdre was a witch, I can easily see him attacking her. Deirdre was a witch. . .of course I know that. But I also know she was a good woman. _Aloud, she said, "Derek. . .let's say for the sake of argument that Douglas Barton is right. That his daughter wasn't lying when she said Jonathan attacked her mother." Derek looked away from the road, horror flashing in his eyes. Jane contined resolutely, "Would that change any of our current actions?"

She didn't know what she wanted him to say. Really, she didn't. When all was said and done, Jane didn't care anything about Jonathan. But she did care about Douglas Barton, and she did care for his children. She didn't want Douglas to become a murderer. Derek said slowly, "I'm not sure. We would still be trying to stop this. Killing Jonathan will not bring Deirdre Barton back from the dead, and in any event, I'm not so sure that Jonathan wasn't justified. She was a witch, after all."

It was Jane's turn to look away from the road in horror. The official party line of the Legacy was that any magick-user outside the priests with their holy words and holy water were agents of Satan. As a practical matter, however. . . She said slowly, "I am appalled to hear you say that, Derek. Deirdre Barton was eight months pregnant when she died. And you think that Jonathan was justified in killing her, just because she was different?"

Derek started to answer, but Jane continued, her voice rising, "Think about the Salem Witch Trials. Innocent men and women, dying because they were different. You would have been burned at the stake as a witch, because of your Sight. Perhaps the witch hunters would have been justified in killing you, because you could easily use your own magick for ill. And then there's the whole. . ."

Jane stopped just short of finishing her sentence. She, unlike most of the Legacy, knew about the tests carried out by Edmund Tremain four years earlier, on Valerie Barton. She knew that the tests almost killed the little girl. . .that they almost stole her sanity. She knew, because she was there. She couldn't tell Derek, because if he knew what sorts of magickal abilities Valerie had, the child would be dead. He would kill her, for someone with such power could not be trusted.

Instead, she said quietly, "I will pray that Douglas doesn't have a chance to carry out his revenge, Derek. But not because I think Jonathan was right to kill Deirdre. . .or because I think he's some great hero. I'm praying that Douglas doesn't kill Jonathan, because Douglas doesn't deserve to be a murderer. He deserves better. His daughters deserve better. Unless you think they should die as well, because their mother was a witch?"

She couldn't hide the sarcasm in the last sentence. Derek was glaring at her, his hazel eyes dark with indignation. But worse yet was the knowledge she saw in those eyes. She was right, and he knew she was right. Even so, he replied quietly, "I do not desire the deaths of those girls. Nor did I desire the death of their mother. But, Jane. . . she was a witch, and the Legacy is very clear about those who traffick in the occult. They cannot be trusted. It is far too easy for evil to gain a hold on their souls. The Legacy is filled with such stories." Jane just stared at him. Was he being deliberately dense? Or did it never occur to him?

"Derek," she said softly, "do you have any idea how that sounded? The Legacy itself trafficks in the occult. . .perhaps you think I cannot be trusted as well?" Derek jerked his head toward her, shocked by this remark. Jane sat back, quite pleased with herself, and said, "Just think about that, Derek. Think about that, before you judge and condemn people like Deirdre Barton. . .or her daughters."

With that, Jane sat back, folding her arms over her chest. There was nothing more to be said, she would just let Derek stew for now. She did and said what she could. The rest was up to Derek now. She understood his reasons, of course. He encountered Legacy members who went to the Dark. . .Reed Horton, for one. But Deirdre was not Reed Horton. And not all magick-users were created equal.


	3. San Francisco and Vancouver: Endgame

Truth or Consequences: Part Three

San Francisco, 1986

They said revenge was a dish best served cold. And after waiting two years for this day, Douglas Barton had to agree. It was decided that he would allow Cranshaw the pleasure of killing Jonathan Boyle. . .but he would be allowed to watch. And perhaps even speak, of the spirit so moved him. As he watched from his hidden corner, he smiled with cold anticipation as Cranshaw knocked Boyle across the room, beating him mercilessly.

The smile died as the images once more flashed through his brain. Deirdre, lying cold and dead on the morgue table. Valerie, in her hospital room, trembling with terror as Boyle loomed over her. The smug grin on Tremain's face when he clapped Douglas on the back after the younger man's arrival in Vancouver. The tone of Derek Rayne's voice when he told Douglas that 'a_ brave man like Jonathan Boyle would never do what your daughter has accused him of. Perhaps you should have taught her better, that she should not lie about people._' Ohhhh. . .yes. The spirit would move him.

"Finish it," Boyle rasped, an arm pressed against his gut, "just finish it! But the Legacy will come after you. . .it doesn't take well to its members being killed." Cranshaw just back-handed him, and it was then that Douglas stepped out of the shadows. Boyle didn't see him at first, which was how Douglas wanted it. There was a time when he studied drama, and the former Legacy precept knew as well as anyone the importance of a well-timed entrance.

"Oh, I'm sure the Legacy will seek out your killer, Jonny boy. But they won't find him," Douglas said, and the man's eyes widened with shock. Ohhhh yes. Yes, this was exactly what he waited for the last two years. This would kill some of the pain. Douglas laughed aloud, saying, "You should see your face, Jonny boy. The shock. The terror. I've been waiting for two years for this. Two years since you destroyed my life, and almost killed my children."

"Derek will come after you. . .you know the rules!" Boyle rasped and again, Douglas laughed. Rules? What rules? He was no longer a member of the Legacy. They cast him out two years earlier. The bravado was quickly fading from the eyes of the other man, and Boyle said desperately, "Think of your daughters. . .and my family! What do you think the Legacy will do to your daughters, the daughters of a known witch?"

"In the first place, I hope Rayne does come after me. I plan on going after him, since he sheltered a murderer. As far as I'm concerned, he's just as culpable as you. In the second place, my daughters have been told nothing of this. What, do you really think I'm stupid enough to tell my fourteen year old daughter 'I'm going to San Francisco to avenge your mother's murder,' Jonny boy? Oh yes, Valerie is very much alive, no thanks to you. And I really don't think I'd tell her about this little meeting," Douglas answered.

Cranshaw melted into a corner, wearing a satisfied smirk. He would not interfere in this. He would have his time, of course, but this belonged to Douglas. The precept began walking around his hated enemy, observing, "It's good, seeing you on your knees. I've imagined this a thousand times over the last two years. Did she beg, Boyle, when you attacked her? Did she plead for her life, did she plead for our baby's life?"

Boyle looked away, but not before Douglas saw something which almost looked like shame in the abuser's eyes. Douglas shouted, startling both Boyle and Cranshaw, "I want an answer! You murdered my wife, you son of a bitch. . .you murdered her, you tried to kill my daughter, and you threatened my entire family!! The Legacy is dying because of people like you! People like that smug, self-righteous precept whom you defend. Maybe I shouldn't blame him. . .after all, he is his father's son."

"No! No, she didn't beg. . .I don't. . .don't remember much. I was drunk, I didn't know what I was doing, I. . ." Boyle began, then screamed as Douglas kicked him hard in the back. He remembered the x-rays of his daughter's spine and ribs, the damage this bastard did to her kidneys, and made sure the kick was located in that general area. He wanted to make sure Boyle had some idea of the pain experienced by his little girl.

"That," Douglas hissed out, "was for my daughter. You know, the doctors could actually count the bruises on her back. You kicked her eight times, Boyle. You broke some of her ribs. You damaged her spine. . .it took her more than a year to get out of that wheelchair. And that's not taking into account the damage you did to her kidneys with your boot. She was trying to get her mother to safety, did you know that? She ran over to get Deirdre up and on her feet, before you could dislodge Marissa, and you kicked her! There wasn't time for her to move, all she could do was lay there, and try to protect her mother and baby sister as much as possible!"

Boyle was cringing, his face screwed up as if in pain. Good. Maybe he couldn't get that picture out of his head. He hoped not. Douglas couldn't forget what he was told. The former precept went on after a moment, "And don't try to make excuses. '_Oh, I was drunk, I didn't know what I was doing_!' That's bull! You made a choice to drink, you agreed to spy on my House, you knew exactly what you were doing!"

"It wasn't Derek, it was Tremain!" Boyle exclaimed. Douglas froze. He was drawing back his foot to kick the other man again, but that stopped him, if only for a few moments. Perhaps realizing that he bought a reprieve for himself, Boyle continued, "It was Tremain. He told Derek that he was suspicious of your House, and wanted me to see what I could find out. Back when Derek first became the precept of San Francisco House, he sat on a tribunal, so it made sense to him."

"And let me guess," Douglas said sarcastically, "you were directed to look through Deirdre's jewelry, to see if she had a pentacle. You found that, you found your proof that she was disloyal to the Legacy." Boyle's expression told him that he nailed it, and Douglas shook his head, disgusted. After a moment, Douglas continued, "So, why did Tremain want you to do this, huh? Why kill my wife? Why not call a tribunal?"

Boyle actually hesitated, and Douglas glared at him for all he was worth. After a moment, the ex-major said slowly, "Because your wife's death was a means to an end. Tremain actually wanted her out of the way, so he could have greater access to your daughter. To Valerie." Douglas felt his blood turn to ice water. Boyle went on, "After I got off the phone with you, I called him. Told him that you said Valerie was dead. He told me that you disappeared, and he was on his way to Vancouver."

"Why did he want greater access to my daughter?" Douglas asked almost numbly. He was fairly sure he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear the words. And if he was right, then Tremain was breaking his word. Not that Douglas was particularly surprised, but he needed to know the whole story. Deirde died not because she was a witch, but because she represented a threat to Tremain's power within the Legacy.

Boyle looked away again, and this time, it was Cranshaw who snarled, "You will answer his questions, or the next one I'm going after is your son!" Boyle's head snapped up, his blue eyes blazing with hatred. Cranshaw taunted, "Oh, I see! You can beat your wife and child, can attack a pregnant woman. . .but you're the only one who can harm those women and that boy! You're a hypocrite, just like the rest of the Legacy!"

"You stay away from my son," Boyle growled, "if you touch him, I'll. . ." Douglas cut that threat off with a sharp kick to his gut. Boyle doubled over, gagging. Douglas just glared down at him, and Boyle wheezed, "I know you hate me, Barton, and I guess you have that right. But I love my son, and I'm proud of him. . .I know what I've done to him. I know he's a better son than I deserve."

"Well, on that we can agree. Nicholas is a better son than you deserve. But we have common ground there, as well. I don't deserve any of my daughters. Now. I asked you a question. Why did Tremain want more access to my daughter? Access, I should note, which he did not get, in case you hadn't heard," Douglas repeated. Boyle dipped his head. He did know that. Douglas said again, "I'm waiting. Unless, of course, you want to die with this on your conscience as well. Tell me what Tremain wanted, and I might spare Rayne." He actually had no intention of doing such a thing, but it was becoming clear Tremain was the true villain.

"Because she had powers which could help the Legacy, in ways no one ever dreamed of. She had the power to summon forth the ancient gods of Egypt, could tear the very fabric of reality. Tremain couldn't risk the chance that someone with such power might fall into the wrong hands, and your wife was being obstinate about allowing him to speak with the girl," Boyle finally answered. Douglas felt sick.

He was afraid of this. 'Fall into the wrong hands.' Tremain and Boyle spoke of his little girl as if she was a weapon. Douglas closed his eyes, remembering how pale and limp that ten year old girl lay in her older sister's arms after the test. She expended most of her life force in trying to escape from the test. All because he so stupidly bragged about what powerful a mage his daughter would be.

"Did Tremain tell you," Douglas began, opening his eyes once more, "how he found out about my daughter's abilities?" Boyle shook his head, staring at him warily. Douglas continued, "It was when she was ten years old. Four years ago. The Ruling precept was at our House, and I was so honored. I had a few too many drinks, and started bragging about how accomplished my girls were. Marissa was fifteen and doing so well in school, and Valerie was showing signs of being a mage, like others in my family."

Cranshaw was listening now as well, and the renegade Legacy precept went on, "He challenged me. Put my money where my mouth was, and let him test Valerie's skills as a mage. I agreed. What was the harm in him seeing what my little girl could do? You know what they say. Pride goeth before a fall. And mine sure did. He didn't test my daughter's skills. . .he tortured her. And when Deirdre and Marissa tried to stop it, he had them restrained."

There was only horror in Boyle's expression now, and fear. Douglas stared at him for several moments, then he said, "My little girl held on as long as she could. But she was so young, and so little. Tremain passed the limits for an adult, and just kept pushing her, until Valerie could endure no more. And when she reached her limit, she reached out blindly, trying to escape. When she did that, she tore the fabric of reality. And for that, we were gifted with a visit from the Egyptian god Asu. . .or, as we know him, thanks to the Greeks. . .Osiris. My daughter breached the boundaries between the living and the dead, and almost destroyed both worlds. A price had to be paid. Valerie collapsed, her energy terribly depleted. Asu restored that to her. He knew she wasn't to blame. . .just a child trying to protect herself. He rightly blamed the adults, and warned Tremain what would happen if he ever tried such a thing again. If he ever spoke of that night."

Closing his eyes now, Douglas could see it, as it was then. He could see Valerie limp and pale in Marissa's arms, with Deirdre standing behind them like an avenging angel. He saw the ancient god towering over the terrified Tremain. His eyes still closed, Douglas continued, "Asu marked Valerie as one of his own. If she ever called upon him, he would be there. She was one of his now."

There was a long silence. Douglas opened his eyes to see the effect his words had on Jonathan Boyle. The other man's face wasn't just ashen. . .it was waxy, and his eyes were glazed over. As if his mind was no longer there. But it was laughter from Cranshaw that drew the rogue's attention. Cold fury rose in his soul. He was laughing. That bastard was laughing at Tremain did to Valerie. That, however, wasn't the case at all. Cranshaw said, his voice rich with sarcasm and contempt, "How ironic. . .the Legacy, an organization which prides itself on protecting the innocent, actually tortures and kills those innocents!"

He shook his head, still chuckling, and said, "I begin to understand why my Master wishes to put the Legacy out of our misery. . .he is afraid that they will become competition!" He laughed again, but there was no true mirth in the sound. Cranshaw allowed the laughter to die away, and said, eyeing Boyle speculatively, "So. Your leash-holder authorized the torture of a little girl, did he? Perhaps I should recruit him as a double agent."

Douglas started to ask a question, but Cranshaw said, "Oh, he is already our agent, though he deludes himself into thinking otherwise. He has deluded himself into thinking that he is better than anyone else. As do you, Boyle. You tell yourself when you beat your fifteen year old son that you are doing it for his own good. . .that you are making him stronger, that you are making sure he will survive. What rationale do you use, I wonder, when you beat your wife? Was she not fast enough with dinner? Was the house not clean enough? Was she not willing enough to let you between her thighs?"

Douglas looked at the beaten man on his knees in front of them. This coward was getting a taste of his own medicine. He didn't like it, Douglas could see. He also saw a myriad of emotions passing across Boyle's face. Fear, rage, helplessness, desperation. Despair. Douglas never liked Jonathan Boyle, even before Deirdre's death. Always felt there was something missing from the other Legacy member, something important, something necessary to anyone who would protect the innocent. Not even the revelations of the last few moments, and Boyle's reactions, changed that.

The former precept said in a low voice, "You know, you've spoken of your son more than once today. As far as I'm concerned, I'm doing the world, and that child, a huge favor. Your son can grow up without you, probably the best gift I could give him. I can't bring my wife back from the dead. . .but I sure as hell can make sure no more husbands and no more children go through this hell because of you."

"Then you won't go after Nick," Boyle said, almost as a prayer. Douglas shook his head. No, he didn't hold the boy responsible for the sins of his father. If he did that, he really would be no better than his enemies. He did have some standards left. Boyle continued, "And what about. . .?" Douglas didn't let him finish the sentence. Instead, he backed away and motioned Cranshaw forward.

"You've bought Rayne time. . .Tremain is the greater evil, so I'll deal with him first. But your dear precept will pay for what he did to my family. He had a chance to do the right thing two years ago, and he blew it. He could have asked half a dozen people what happened that day. He didn't, and that tells me he doesn't deserve to be a precept," Douglas replied. He paused, before adding, "This is where it begins, Jonny boy. This is only the beginning, and when I'm finished with it, everyone will know what a joke the Legacy is. Then it can be rebuilt from the ground up. It can still be a force for good. . . if we get rid of the Legacy machines, and start concentrating on people. Good-bye. . .tell the devil 'hello' for me once you get to hell!" He nodded to Cranshaw, then walked away.

He didn't watch Crenshaw kill Jonathan Boyle. It wasn't necessary. He saw Crenshaw's handiwork in the past. It was what drew him to his partner in crime. After a few moments, Cranshaw said, "We should go. Others are coming. I can cast a glamor spell, so they believe you're both dead." Douglas needed no time to think about that. . .he bobbed his head, then the pair left the house. Yes, it was fitting for Douglas Barton to die on this day.

. . .

As Douglas Barton predicted, once it was established that his daughters knew nothing of his plans, the Legacy left them alone. And thanks to Cranshaw's help, he further protected his daughters when he made the Legacy believe he was dead. After finding the two dead bodies, Derek Rayne and Jane Witherspoon went to the nearest town for a coroner. While they were away, another body was found and used as a double for Douglas. The glamor spell was recast. . . by the time it wore off, the renegade precept was long gone.

But Douglas still had more work to do. He remained in San Francisco for another few days. . .he wanted to see this through to the end. And so, as Bryan Cranshaw stood behind one tree at Jonathan Boyle's funeral service, Douglas stood behind another. He listened with shocked amusement as Derek Rayne lauded his friend's commitment to making the world a better place. I_ should probably take him out next,_ Douglas thought in disgust, _he's too stupid to live_! Still, he was the lesser evil, and Tremain would be the next one to pay.

When he wasn't trying to fight back his nausea, he watched the boy Nick's face. The kid probably thought he was numb, but Douglas could see the combination of grief, relief, and rage play across the teenager's face. If he had any doubts about Nick Boyle being allowed to grow up in peace, they were gone. Douglas pushed himself away from the tree and headed back toward his car. He nodded to Cranshaw, who returned the nod with a faint smile.

He had one more thing to do, before he left for Europe. There was only one person whom he trusted to keep his secret. Oh, he knew he could trust Nathaniel, but Nathaniel would be needed to protect the girls. No, the only other person he could trust with this secret was Justin Adams. If only because he spent so much time in his lab, on digs. . .there was little chance he would tell Jane, or anyone else, the truth. In his car, Douglas dialed the home number for Justin Adams. On the second ring, a young girl's voice said breathlessly, "Adams residence, this is Kristen!" Douglas grinned. . .she sounded like Valerie when she answered the phone. The former Legacy precept knew Justin's daughter was younger than his Valerie, but she still reminded him of his daughter. She was still young. . .she still had that breathless way of talking, as if she couldn't get the words out fast enough.

"Hello, Kristen, my name is David Bartholomew, a friend of your father's. Is he around?" Douglas asked, using the assumed name he used in the past when he didn't want the entire Legacy knowing his business. It was ridiculously simple, but for some reason, the only people who ever figured it out were Nathaniel and Justin. Hmm. He never thought about that before, though perhaps he should have.

"Uhm, hold on a minute. . .Daddy! There's someone named David Bartholomew on the phone for you!" the girl called out, her voice rising to make herself heard over the din in the background. In a more normal tone, Kristen added, "Daddy's getting ready to leave, and Mom is helping him to pack. Ethan is asleep, that's why I answered the phone. He's really cranky if his nap is interrupted. Do you work with my father?"

"Yes, I do, Kristen, but I'm not a scientist like your father. However, my eldest daughter will be a scientist, an archaeologist. She's in college, and I have another daughter who is just about your age. A little older actually. . .she just turned fourteen," Douglas said. He was careful about what he said. If Tremain questioned Kristen at some point, he might realize too much from the information Douglas gave the girl.

"Oh, she's in high school! That's so neat. Here's my dad, Mr. Bartholomew, I gotta check on my brother. It was nice talking to you!" Kristen said, then Douglas heard the phone being exchanged. He heard his friend telling his daughter that it was time for Ethan to get up . .they would be leaving for the airport. Kristen replied okay, then skipped off. He knew this because he heard Maddy tell her to stop skipping in the house.

Then Justin said, "I hope to hell you know what you're doing, Bart. Everyone in the Legacy thinks you're dead. And that little Fury you raised won't let Tremain near your youngest." Douglas chuckled, sitting back in his seat. _Oh, good girl, Valerie_, he thought, smiling proudly, _good for you!_ _You've forgotten nothing!_ Justin added with some asperity, "It's not funny, dammit! You had Jane in tears with that story about Valerie being dead! You had something to do with Boyle's death, didn't you?"

_Well, score one for our side_, Douglas thought, _but even though Justin knows, he'll never tell London. He knows what will happen to my girls. Even though he doesn't bother spending time with his family, he would never do anything to harm innocents_. He told the other man, "I'm just calling you to let you know I am alive, Justin. And even if I did have something to do with that bastard's death, just think. . .what would you do to the monsters who took Claire? What would you do if someone harmed Ethan or Kristen? You just think about that. I'll do whatever I have to do to protect my children."

There was a long silence, then Douglas told his old friend, "And the only reason you know, the only reason I chose you, is because you're not in the States long enough to tell anyone. I chose you because I knew you would be leaving again. I want to trust Nathaniel, but I know he would tell my daughters that I'm still alive, to try to comfort them. And as long as they believe I'm dead, they're safe from the Legacy."

"Bart, you're talking as if the Legacy is the enemy. It's not! Yes, Tremain should have listened to Val! Yes, Derek Rayne screwed up monumentally. It's like Jane said when she called here after Boyle was killed. Val's an honest kid. Derek should have gotten all his facts before he made his decision. But for the sake of your children, you can't give up on the Legacy!" Justin pleaded. Douglas shook his head. No, that was out of the question.

"The Legacy gave up on me, Justin, not the other way around. The Legacy has become the enemy. Do you know why my wife was killed, Justin? It wasn't because she belonged to an unpopular faith. That was just the excuse. My wife died so that bastard Tremain could get his soft, pasty hands on my daughter. . .on my Valerie, so he could turn her into a weapon for the Legacy!" the man on the West Coast said.

There was a stunned silence from the other man. There was a stunned 'oh my god' from Justin, then more silence. At last, Justin whispered, "A weapon? I know Valerie has a version of the Sight, but you're not talking about that, are you?" Now, finally, Justin was starting to get the picture. There was a brief silence, and in the background, Douglas could hear Madeline calling for Kristen.

Kristen was doing something else. . .she was waking up her brother, but her mother wanted her right now. Douglas could almost imagine how disgruntled she felt. . . she was only twelve years old! She couldn't do two things at once! He was hearing Marissa in his mind when she was that age. Douglas said, "No. I'm not. Valerie has far more than the Sight, Justin. She is a mage. . .she inherited these abilities from both her mother and from me."

There was another long silence. Justin was thinking about this. Douglas knew his former roommate's silences. Justin finally said, "A mage in the Legacy. There can only be two ways for this to go, Douglas. Either she would be killed, because she was too dangerous, or she would be actively recruited. I don't envy her, having magick. Everything she would do would be under scrutiny and second-guessed."

"Tremain thought he could control me, with Deirdre dead. He thought I would roll right over and let him have Valerie. Not a chance. And now, she's got the entire Vancouver House looking out for her. You and I aren't so very different, old friend. You've buried yourself in your work, because of what happened to Claire. I'm burying myself, so nothing more happens to my daughters. Good-bye, Justin. You've been a good friend," Douglas said. Before Justin could say anything more, the former precept hung up. Douglas rested his head against the steering wheel, breathing deeply. He struck two low blows, by bringing up Claire, but he didn't know how else to get his point across.

After a moment, he slid the plastic sheeting over the car phone. Now the adrenaline was leaving him, and Douglas shook. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back. He would return to his hotel for his belongings, then he had a flight to catch. His first stop would be in Brussels. One thing at which Douglas always excelled was investigation. He was good at going back to the beginning, and putting the pieces together. What happened, in what order, and why did it happen?

He knocked over the first domino. Sir Edmund Tremain, of course, was next. But instead of attacking the man physically, he would attack the precept's reputation first. He would do that, by going to every House where Tremain served, from his first assignment. He would go through every old case, dig up every last bit of dirt. He would chip away at Tremain's reputation, bit by precious bit. That would be far more devastating. . .and far more satisfying. And when he dragged Tremain's name through the mud, the way Deirdre's and Valerie's names were. . .then, and only then, would he kill Tremain. Douglas again pictured the test that almost killed Valerie. This time, he remembered the expression on her face right before she passed out. That terrified, _'what have I done'_ look. That would be the expression on Tremain's face before it was all over. Douglas would see to that.

. . .

Justin Adams slowly replaced the receiver in the cradle, disturbed by his conversation with his college roommate. His wife was still packing his belongings, and Madeline always shooed him from the room when she was packing for him, so Justin went into his son's room. Evidently, she and Kristen worked out whatever Madeline wanted her to do. That was good. Justin was glad about that. Mothers and daughters should cherish each other. And after his conversation with Douglas Barton, he needed to be with his children.

There was a part of him that wanted to leave the Legacy immediately. Take Maddy, Ethan, and Kristen, and disappear. Change their names, and just. . .go. In light of what Bart told him, Justin's faith in the Legacy was badly shaken. A woman was killed, so an unscrupulous man could have access to her daughter. Her young, innocent daughter with a power she didn't understand and likely didn't want. A good woman died two years earlier, a loving wife and mother. Justin closed his eyes. How would he have felt if it was Madeline who died, protecting their babies? What if the people who took Claire years earlier killed Madeline in the process? A bone-chilling rage swept through Justin's body, stealing his breath. He would have killed that person, or persons, even if it ended his own life to do so.

And ironically, it was the thought of Claire that reminded him why he didn't leave the Legacy. It gave him a purpose after he lost his daughter. Both he and Maddy lost Claire, of course. But Justin nearly went insane with grief. He almost destroyed his marriage. Maddy mourned, just as he did. But she turned her remaining energy toward taking care of Kristen, and making sure their remaining daughter would be safe. And the Legacy saved his sanity. _'Do you want to make sure that what happened to your family never happens again? We can't promise never, but we can promise you that you can spare at least one family that heartbreak. Let us in, Justin_,' they told him when they could finally gain admittance to his home, _'let us help you, because the Legacy is a family as well. You know that. Let us help you_.' And in agreeing, he began saving his own soul.

Many times over the years, especially after Ethan was born and Justin began working more and more on the project, Bart would accuse Justin of using his Grail quest to shield him from the pain of losing Claire. That was a half-truth. Typical of Bart. Right church, as Maddy liked to say, but wrong pew. The truth that Justin could only admit to himself was this: his Grail quest was his way of atoning. If he found the Grail, then maybe he was worthy enough to have Claire returned if she was still alive. Naive? Of course. But Claire's body was never found, and so long as no body was found, there was a chance his daughter was alive. A slim chance, perhaps, but a chance nonetheless. Justin could not bear to lose that last strand of hope. But for the first time, he wondered if he was better served to show his worth by spending more time with his two remaining children. . .his five year old son and his twelve year old daughter. His Kristen, a living, breathing reminder of the lost child.

Every time he looked at Kristen, he wondered what Claire would have been like. Would she have smiled as often as Kristen did? Would her blue eyes have lit up with mischief whenever she tickled Ethan? Would she and Kristen have been partners in crime? Kristen was a little on the shy side. She could be bossy, though Maddy swore that came from being Mama's helper. Justin acknowledged the barb. Kristen was helping to raise Ethan. A twelve year old girl was doing Justin's job for him.

_One day_, he promised himself and his children, _one day I'll come home to stay. One day, my wandering and my research and my digs will be over. One day, I'll be a father whom you both can be proud of. One day, I'll never leave again_. He didn't know when that day would come. A part of him feared that it would come too late. . .that he would come back one day, and find both of his children grown. . .fully independent and no longer needing him. That was a very real fear for him. And yet. . .and yet. . .and yet. . .he couldn't give up his search.

Kristen was gently shaking her younger brother awake, teasing him with her long blonde hair. Justin's heart contracted. Bart's question came back to him yet again, about Claire's kidnapping. He thought about Deirdre's murder, and the revelation of Valerie's abilities. Just how far would he go for his children? What would he do if he ever caught the monsters who stole Claire from them? What would he do if someone ever hurt Kristen or Ethan? Kristen looked up at that moment, her young face alight with laughter and mischief. God, she was so beautiful! It wouldn't have surprised Justin at all to find out that this was one of the last things Douglas told his own daughter before leaving his House forever. She wasn't awake to hear it, but the words were said nonetheless. His own daughter was only two years younger than Valerie, Justin remembered, and the same age Valerie was when her mother was taken from her. What more would be taken from his little girl, before it was all over?

"Daddy? Is everything all right?" Kristen asked softly, her laughter dying away, giving way to concern. Justin could only stare at his beautiful young daughter. Kristen, Claire, Valerie. The three names ran together, and Justin knew what he would do in Douglas Barton's position. The exact same thing. He would even destroy the Legacy, if it came to that. Justin went to his daughter and enfolded her in his arms. For this moment in time, all he wanted was to hold her. If he gave his daughter nothing else, he would give her this .

"Everything's fine, princess. I was just thinking about how very lucky I am to have you and Ethan. I love you so much, Kristen. So very much," Justin replied, kissing her white-blonde hair. Kristen snuggled closer, still young enough to happily accept hugs from either parent. But she was growing up too fast. They always grew up too fast, and his mind once more returned to another young girl who grew up too fast. Justin murmured, "I was just got off the phone with my old friend, Bart, honey. He told you about his daughter, didn't he? About Valerie?" He felt Kristen nod against his chest, and Justin continued, "I was just thinking that I hope your life is much different from hers. . .much better. She lost her mother, and almost died, when she was your age." She's only fourteen, and she's almost died twice.

"Daddy, do you think I'll ever meet Valerie?" Kristen asked, pulling back to look at him. Her pale hair fell away from her face. Justin cupped her cheeks in his hands, kissing her forehead, which drew a delighted grin. Justin smiled back at her and nodded. Yes, he thought she would. Kristen's expression grew more serious as she added thoughtfully, "Good. If I do, I'll be her friend, Daddy. She needs friends, doesn't she?"

"Yes, sweetheart, she does," Justin replied. Kristen was reserved with anyone she didn't know. Maybe he and Maddy caused that. Maybe they taught her to distrust anyone who didn't seem familiar to her. It came back to Claire once more. With those whom she knew and trusted, Kristen could be warm and funny and sweet. She also protected with a ferociousness that sometimes stunned both parents.

Knowing that, Justin said softly, "You become her friend, Kristen. You take care of her, the way you take care of your mother and brother. Promise me that. Promise me you'll take care of her, that you'll protect her. I have a feeling she'll need all the help she can get." Justin wasn't as worried about Marissa or Kerry. Kerry was too young to remember what went before. She was just a baby. Marissa could hold her own. And Marissa wasn't the one for whom a Legacy assassin killed a Legacy member.

That alone made Valerie extremely vulnerable, more than either of her two sisters. She would need Kristen. She would need a friend, for whatever lay ahead. Justin's daughter said now softly, surely, "I promise, Daddy. I'll do whatever I can to help her. It would be horrible if I ever lost you or Mom." Justin hugged his daughter again. He knew she would keep her promise. Kristen always kept her promises.

Even after death.

. . .

"Jonathan Boyle is dead."

Valerie Barton turned to look at the owner of the voice. She was sitting on the stone steps leading from the back of the House to the gardens. It was now almost a week since her father's disappearance, and days since the confrontation with the Ruling House. Dallas Wentworth was installed as the temporary precept, at the insistence of Angelyne D'Arcy, the woman who came to the aid of Vancouver House during the confrontation.

And now, Valerie was looking at her sister, who just told her Jonathan Boyle was alive. Marissa arrived the day after the members of London House, and immediately began working with Dallas. The sisters stared at each other for several silent moments, as they allowed the words to settle. Jonathan Boyle was dead. Said in the same tone that Marissa would have used to announce that Kerry was asleep. It wasn't until Marissa was seated on the stone step beside her that Valerie finally spoke. It wasn't until Marissa's arm wound around her shoulders that the teenager felt secure enough to ask, "Why don't I feel anything, Riss? I always thought I would feel something when that man died. But, I don't. For two years, I've prayed he would pay with his life, I've prayed that he would pay for what he did to us."

Marissa didn't answer at first. She kissed the back of Valerie's head, tightening her arms, and finally replied, "That bastard's death won't bring Mom back. Nothing can. And I've decided over the last two years, that she still lives on in us. As long as we remember her, and what she taught us, she won't ever die. But he did pay for what he did to her, and no more moms and daughters will be separated because of him."

Valerie thought about that. Her sister was right. There was a part of her, a naive, innocent, child-like part of her, that hoped Jonathan Boyle's death would restore the balance in her life. It hoped that his death really would bring her mother back to life. But the rest of her knew the truth. Nothing would do that. Nothing could do that. Not even the death of the animal that killed her. So where did she find meaning in this whole situation? Her mother was gone. Her father was gone. . .he was likely the one who killed Jonathan Boyle. She would probably never see him again. Where was the meaning, where was the truth, where was the point in this whole mess?

Was Marissa right about the other thing? That she found comfort in knowing no other girl like herself would go through what she was feeling right now? No other girl would feel this grief, this numbness, this emptiness? She asked, staring up at the night sky, "Riss? Did Jonathan Boyle have any kids?" Now both of her sister's arms were around her, and Val felt her older sister's chin against the top of her head.

"Yeah. Two. Two boys. James and Nicholas. . .Jimmy and Nick," Riss answered in a low voice. Valerie considered that. Two boys. As if hearing her thoughts, Riss continued, "Jimmy is the older by about seven or eight years. Not entirely sure. Nick is fifteen. He'll never hurt either of those boys again. Never strike them again. Never again treat them as if they're worthless." Val's lower lip trembled.

She shivered, and yet again, Riss tightened her arms around her. The younger sister whispered, "That's it, then. He can't hurt people any more. He can't hurt us. Now there's just Tremain and the other one. What happens next, Mel? If Dad's alive, do you think he's the one who killed Jonathan Boyle?" She didn't know why she added, 'if he's alive.' It just slipped out, and Val realized with a shock that she was actually considering the possibility that he was dead.

"They found two bodies. . .Jonathan Boyle and Dad's. But I don't think Dad's dead. Don't ask me to explain. . .I just don't think he's dead," Riss answered. She paused, then she added softly, "I'm not a mage like you, Val. But back when Kerry was born. . .I felt it when Mom died. I'd feel it if Dad died. He isn't dead. He's just pretending to be dead, to make sure the Legacy leaves us alone." That was something Valerie could accept. Sort of. Riss continued after a moment, "As for what's next. . .Dad will go after both of the others. My gut tells me that he'll go after Tremain last, but it's hard to say. I don't know what he'll do to them. I don't want to know, and I don't care. I only care about you and Kerry now. I've talked to Dallas. . .actually, he talked me out of leaving college, and coming home to take care of you and Kerry. He told me that he and the others would take care of you."

So Marissa would stay in college. That was good. Valerie had no idea what she would do. Keep up with her own classes. Take care of Kerry. Beyond that, she had no idea. Marissa continued after a moment, "That's not entirely true. I know what I'm doing. I'm going back to college, once Uncle Nathaniel gets here. And then I'll start taking my own retaliation for what those other two did."

She never called them by name, not if she didn't have to. Most of the time, she didn't have to. 'The other two.' Boyle was dead. He couldn't hurt anyone any more. There wouldn't be any more twelve year old girls fighting for their lives because of one of his beatings. And then the rest of the sentence sank into her brain. Valerie stiffened ever so slightly, fearing now for her older sister, but Riss added softly, "I won't kill Rayne. There are more than one ways of hurting someone, little sister. And I won't kill what remaining family he has. It's not really their fault he's such a bastard. But hurt him I will. I'll rob him of his family, just as he robbed me of mine. Maybe I'll turn his mother or sister against him. I don't know. But I want him to regret ever sending Jonathan Boyle to New Mexico two years ago."

Valerie relaxed. She said softly, "I don't know what I'll do, Riss. I hate the Legacy. I hate what it did to Mom, what it did to Dad, what it's done to us. I hate the idea of working with anyone like Jonathan Boyle or Derek Rayne. I hate the idea I might become like Winston Rayne or Edmund Tremain. It scares me, Riss. I've never hated anyone so much in my life, as I've hated in the last two years. I hate that most of all. I hate the way it makes me feel."

"That's good, baby girl. Because as long as you've got that, you'll never become like any of those men," Marissa encouraged her. Valerie tried to track that. For all that she was a bright, gifted girl, for all that she was more mature than most teenagers, she was still just a child who was grieving for her parents. She was still grieving for the loss of an entire world that seemed so stable until two years ago. Riss continued after a moment, "As long as you fight that sick feeling, the one that feels like battery acid is eating up your soul. . .you'll be okay. 'Cause that means you've still got your soul, and you haven't sold it to the Legacy. As for what you'll do. Just keep doing what you have been. It's what Mom would have wanted. If you turn away from that path now, then Rayne and Boyle and Tremain. . .they've won."

Valerie's voice caught on a sob as she replied, "But sis, that's the whole thing. I feel like they've already won, that I've already let Mom down. I want to kill them, Marissa! I want to dig up Boyle and kill him all over again, I want to torture the other two to death. They've already won!" Now Marissa released her, just long enough to grasp her shoulders and turn Valerie to face her.

"No," Marissa replied quietly, forcefully, "no, they have not. They have not won, because you're still my little sister, you're still Valerie Barton. Oh baby, of course you want to kill them, it's only natural! They tore your family apart, and they're not finished yet. But I'll tell you the same thing Mom told me years ago, when I questioned why she remained in the Legacy, when there were people like Rayne and Boyle and Tremain."

She wiped away a tear tenderly with one thumb, then continued, "She told me that people like that did make her life difficult. But as long as she remained in the Legacy, she could still make a difference. If she left because of those three, the circle of protectors would diminish. The circle would diminish, and the darkness would find more ways in. And that's why you have to stay on your path. Leave the revenge to me and Dad. We're better at it. . .we're avengers, we're enforcers. But you. . .you're a protector. And you are gonna make such a great precept when you're grown up, Val. You've already lived more than most people do in a life time, you've already lost and stumbled and gotten back up!"

She cupped Valerie's face in her hands now, her dark eyes shining with love and pride and conviction. Valerie swallowed hard, seeing that there. She already knew that Riss loved her, that her sister was proud of her. But what surprised her was the conviction. Riss also believed in her. She whispered, "I can't do it alone. Will you help me?" Riss gave a muffled sound that might have been a sob or a laugh.

"Sweetheart, wild horses couldn't keep me away from your side. I promise you. After I graduate from college, only death will separate us again. We're gonna turn the Legacy on its ear, babe. We're the Barton girls, Valerie, and nothing can stop us!" Riss whispered, holding her close. On that night, two years to the day after Boyle came to her hospital room to threaten her father, Valerie heard the ferocity in her sister's voice, and heard the truth. They could do this together, she and Riss. They could make sure there were no more men like Jonathan Boyle killing women like Deirdre Barton. They could and they would.

. . .

It seemed as if that was the final barrier to be crossed. As Riss swore that they would carry on their mother's dreams, that they would make sure something like this never happened again, Val finally broke down sobbing. It was a long time coming. She held herself together through Kerry's wails after they realized Dad wasn't coming home. And her little sister held herself together when Edmund Tremain showed up, the Spanish Inquisition of the late twentieth century. She held herself together even knowing that if their father lived, he would now be considered a traitor to the Legacy.

This was a long time coming, and Marissa rocked her from side to side. Tears streamed down her own face, and she made no attempt to offer her sister soothing nonsense. She looked up as a shadow approached them both. It was the woman who insisted that Dallas Wentworth take over temporarily as the precept and supported Vancouver House during the confrontation. Marissa was sorry she missed that. The members of Vancouver House told her that her little sister was a sight to behold.

And miles away from the teenaged girl now curled up in Marissa's arms, attired in sweats. Riss wished one of the Vancouver members had the presence of mind to snap a picture of her little sister during that confrontation. Maybe one of the London House members did. D'Arcy. Angelyne D'Arcy. Marissa remembered her name now. How could you forget a name like that, especially when it was so close to 'Angelique,' her favorite character in _'Dark Shadows_.' Marissa watched _'Dark Shadows'_ with her mother when she was a child. This, of course, was before the advent of VCR's in the rest of the world. As ever, the Legacy was at least fifteen to twenty years ahead of the rest of the world in terms of technology.

But the Legacy did have machines that were very similar, a way to play back footage from a security camera. While they were living in Greece, _'Dark Shadows'_ was rerunning some of their older shows on Greek tv with Greek subtitles. When possible, Marissa watched the show with her mother. . .and when they missed it for some reason, one of the other members of the House, Phaedra Costas, would wire the television and the video playback machine together. When they returned home, they found that day's episode waiting for them.

"How are you girls?" Angelyne asked quietly, her eyes flickering from one girl to the other. Val turned her face away from Marissa's shirt, offering the senior Legacy member a weak, teary-eyed smile. Angelyne reached out and gently brushed away Val's tears with one hand, whispering, "If I didn't tell you this sooner, I do apologize. Things have been hectic for us all. But I am sorry about your mother's death."

"Thank you," Marissa replied quietly, rubbing her hand up and down Val's arm. She needed this, the college student realized, she needed this contact as much as her sister did. Needed the contact, the warmth, needed to reassure herself that she still had her younger sister. Riss continued after a moment, "What happens now? I mean for Vancouver House, for us. . . what happens now?"

"For now, Dallas Wentworth will remain the precept of Vancouver House. If I can, I'll make sure he gets the permanent appointment. Sir Edmund may be the precept of the Ruling House, but there is also the Ruling Council to consider. I want you both to realize. The case around your mother's murder will be reopened, but I wouldn't hold my breath, waiting for any real action to be taken. I believe you, when you say Boyle and Sir Edmund are responsible for your mother's death, and I also think the Ruling Council will believe you. But, as to Sir Edmund being relieved of his post. . ." Angelyne said.

"Don't hold our breaths, 'cause it ain't gonna happen any time soon," Riss said flatly. Angelyne hesitated slightly, then shook her head in acknowledgment. Riss continued, "So. . .how is it that you have power in the Legacy? If you've got the power to make or break a precept. . .I mean, I know that there are no female Legacy precepts right now. That they aren't figuring on any female precepts for another ten years. So. . ."

"That's one of the things I'll try to get. Like I said. The Ruling Council probably won't do anything about your mother's death. Boyle is dead, he's the one who launched the attack. And your father's disappeared. So. . .they'll give us something else, as appeasement. Or, to put it more bluntly, they'll buy us off. It won't bring your mother back, it won't provide any balance, but I think the best thing we can do is accept whatever they offer," Angelyne replied.

She paused, then continued, "After I forced Sir Edmund to tell me what your sister meant about his own past sins, the Ruling Council appointed me as your. . . advocate. I'm asking for three things. First and foremost. . .they will open the Legacy preceptry to women ten years ahead of schedule. Well, aside from the Irish Houses, because they've had women precepts for years. One of the boons of being an Irish female." Both girls laughed at that, and Angelyne smiled impishly. Riss wondered if her mother was of Irish extraction, as Deirdre Barton had been.

"With that, I'll ask to be named as a precept. Once Valerie joins the Legacy, I'll ask that both of you be assigned to my House. That way, I can protect you, at least until it's time for Valerie to receive her own House. And you will be a precept, Valerie, of that I can assure you. The seal has been broken on your test, and the Ruling Council liked what they saw. It impresses them that you're still alive, and that, above all else, proves that you should be a Legacy precept," Angelyne explained.

At the mention of the test, Val shuddered and Riss explained quietly, "My sister doesn't remember the test. She has no memory of that day. . .of that entire week." Angelyne nodded, reaching over to caress the back of Val's head. Riss kissed her sister's curls, murmuring, "Honey, why don't you go to bed? It's been a long week, and I know you haven't been sleeping well lately."

Valerie yawned and replied, "I suppose I'd have no credibility if I told you that I wasn't sleepy, would I?" Riss shook her head with a wry Marissa's cheek, and the college student let her rise to her feet. Val said, holding her hand out to Angelyne, "Thank you, Miss D'Arcy, for everything. I know you'll do your best for us."

"I certainly will, my dear girl. Sleep well," Angelyne replied, squeezing the teen's hand gently. Valerie smiled at them both, then made her way inside. The two remaining on the stone steps were silent for several moments, then Angelyne asked, "So. What are your plans for revenge, my dear girl?" Riss looked at the older woman quickly, and Angelyne continued, "Please, don't insult my intelligence. I know you want revenge, Marissa. For your sisters, for your mother, for that evil test conducted on your sister."

"This is just between us?" Riss asked slowly and Angelyne nodded. Satisfied, Marissa continued, "Dad's taken out Boyle. That's my gut feeling. He'll go after Rayne and Tremain next. I don't know who will be next of those two. If he'll take out Rayne first, and save Tremain for last. But I plan on dealing with those two in my own way. I want them to understand what they did. They took a part of my family from me, and now, I want to return the favor. I just haven't decided how I'll do that."

"Would you like some help?" Angelyne offered. Riss looked at the woman suspiciously. Why would she help them? Why would she want to do anything more, more than she already did for their family? Angelyne replied, "I know what you're thinking. Why would I help you? I've done so much already, as much as anyone can in this awful situation. But there is more I can do, more I want to do."

She added, "And why would I want to help you? Simple. Because I know what it's like, losing someone I love. I know what it's like, to lose someone to the Legacy. I know what it's like to want revenge, and never get it. I can help you. I want to help you. I can give you ideas. You want Derek Rayne and Edmund Tremain to have a taste of what they've done to you and your family? I can help with that." Marissa stared at the other woman for a long time, trying to make her decision.

Finally, she said, "Because by helping me, you'll be getting your own revenge. Against someone who hurt you." Angelyne inclined her head in agreement. Marissa thought about it, adding that into the equation. At last, she replied, "All right. I may be making a deal with the devil, but I have a feeling I won't be the first member of this family to do that. I'll help you with your revenge, and you can help me with mine."

Angelyne D'Arcy smiled broadly and replied, "You aren't making a deal with the devil. We're making the Legacy a better organization. I won't betray you, or your sisters. The Legacy has betrayed you girls enough. It ends here, and it ends tonight." She offered Marissa her hand, and the eldest Barton daughter took it. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. . .but if it was, why did it feel so very right?


End file.
